Masquerade
by xLilim
Summary: AU: Three families have pulled the strings behind every important figurehead in the world, but soon the murders begin, and innocent fates intertwine while uncovering the mystery that surrounds their clans and deaths that pursue them. StarrkOC
1. Origins and Distractions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of Bleach. I only own the OCs in this story (whether important or useless).

**Warning**: language, shady businesses, violence, deaths, infidelity, not as historically accurate as you may hope, and adult situations

**Information**: You can determine whether or not it is important or not. Anyhow, this story is the demon spawn of Fool (a completely different Starrk/OC stry that remains unrelated throughout the entire plot of this tale) and for whatever reason the idea for a plot staged in the Victorian Era in England stuck to me like glue - more because I have a sick fascination with that era...and Regency, so there was a point in which this would have taken place during that period until I looked up male and female attire for that time (not that I had not already guessed, it was means to prove myself wrong...perhaps) and realized I would not be able to stop laughing imagining any Bleach male in those strapping outfits...so I jumped a couple years and rammed straight into the Victorian Era, late 19th Century.

This story may be incredibly long as I would like to focus on a lot of investigations and murder mysteries as well as some deep romancing and I hope you (my readers - _HI! If you're there!_) come to enjoy even a bit of it. Also, I didn't want to change any names in the story to avoid confusion so they may sound odd with English titles, but...at least it'll give us something to be amused over, right?

**Pairing(s)**: Starrk/OC, future Ukitake/OC and Shinji/OC.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Masquerade**

-Prologue:******_Origins_**___-_

_Three devils set upon the Earth_

_Each donned a different gift_

_That aided in their daring conquests_

_The first was determined, fueled by his disappointment._

_The second was strong, encouraged by his tyranny._

_And the third was a genius, drawn by his monotony._

_Together, their interests overlapped—_

_Dangers rose, death reappeared, and people hid in fear—_

_These three devils slowly devoured humanity…_

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_The Nineteenth Century_

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**1859** -** 1872**

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1859 – Japan: an ambitious man, Yamamoto Genryūsai, traded an ancient art for a title and immeasurable wealth on his rise to power. Spain: an arrogant duke, Barragan Luisenbarn, funded the mass production of firearms for the up and coming black market. Germany: a newly wedded archduke, Sōsuke Aizen, under the alias "Vazov" invested half his fortune in the creation of an opium ring.

1861 – Yamamoto view of the Japanese government turned into deep repugnance and with loyal followers took over the Japanese black market. Luisenbarn began recruitment for an army.

1863 – Aizen took control of every drug ring in east Europe and created ties with the largest secret society in Russia.

1864 – Yamamoto became a national threat.

1866 – Luisenbarn conquered various lands within his native land and made many noble houses his main source of income.

1867 – Aizen took control of Russia. Yamamoto took control of Japan with a sizable army. Luisenbarn took control of Spain.

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**1870 – 1876**

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1870 - Yamamoto, Luisenbarn, and "Vazov" became international threats. An international search was started for the infamous trio, but found no concrete evidence linking them to their crimes. No access was granted into Japan, Russia, or Spain.

1871 - 1873 – American and French armies forced their way into Spanish territory. The country was peaceful without signs of any army. Luisenbarn was nowhere to be found. English and Italian troops were invited into Russia where they were greeted affably by the king. "Vazov" was nowhere to be found. Chinese troops invaded Japan. There were 179 dead. They were forced to retreat.

1874 - 1876 – Japan became the target of the allied nations, but upon invading, found it peaceful and under reign of the current emperor. Yamamoto was nowhere to be found. The search continued on fruitless.

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**1877 **- Onward

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1877 – Yamamoto rose to take control of China, Thailand, and the Philippines with an enormous army. He established a human trafficking ring with its headquarters in China. The Luisenbarn Court became the strongest army to have conquered half of Europe, excluding Germany, France, Italy, and England. He united many black markets and funded them.

1878 – Yamamoto and Luisenbarn fell into a power struggle.

1879 – "Vazov" took control of South America and reappeared in Germany to continue his conquest for France and Italy. Yamamoto and Luisenbarn took control of North America.

1880 – "Vazov" joined the Yamamoto and Luisenbarn's power struggle in England, revealing his true identity. They are informally known as the Three Families and feared worldwide.

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_England is the final conquest._

_Thus, our story begins._

* * *

**Masquerade**

Chapter 1

-_**Distractions**-_

_The colorless world_

_Suddenly flourished with vibrant hues_

_And from the vast emptiness_

_Gave birth to love—_

_A love much like infatuation—_

_In times of deception, treaties, and internal wars_

_In the wrong place and the wrong era_

_Where happiness is only a mask_

_And here, there's a sea of them._

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_England_

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**Spring**,** 1881**

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"Ulquiorra's returned with new information."

Coyote Starrk, Viscount L'Isle, bit into a gleaming red apple and dropped his feet to the ground as he straightened his back to the armchair. He chewed laxly, savoring the fruit's sweet taste, and hummed wondrously in response with a slight nod.

"…Are you even listening to me?"

Starrk cast a lazy glance over his shoulder to meet the peeved expression on the face of his youngest bodyguard.

"Information on what?" he asked groggily, taking another bite from his apple.

Ggio Vega felt his blood boil at the sight of the disheveled lord, dressed in yesterday's dark tailcoat and trousers – wrinkled beyond salvation. An exasperated sigh escaped his barely parted lips; Ggio fought the urge to roll his eyes along with the gesture.

"That's the fifth suit you have ruined since we got here," he growled, letting lose a few scruples.

Starrk smoothed out a few wrinkles over his jacket, but cast off the idea of fixing the problem. He rose to his feet with the apple clenched between his teeth and stepped forward with a sluggish air. He had rolled out of bed minutes prior to his bodyguard's intrusion and barely managed to drag his stiff body to the nearest armchair where he picked up an apple from the fruit bowl atop the table between a pair of couches. His brain had not yet caught up with the rest of him.

"I have two others."

Ggio suddenly cringed as the familiar stench of death and old blood reached him. "You found Sir Mason?"

"He found me," he said flatly. "We worked out an agreement."

Ggio paused, taking a moment to reorganize his thoughts and remind himself of the reason why he postponed his usual duties. "Again, Ulquiorra returned with the information you asked for."

"Ah, the girl?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"She arrived to the earl's manor yesterday morning, accompanied by her lady's maid and heavily guarded by six bodyguards," said Ggio professionally. "As you know, the engagement party for Baron Dumont and Samantha Laxton is this coming weekend."

"Yes, I'm not going."

"The girl will be there."

Starrk grimaced. "I will go."

"I will call your valet and have a bath prepared." Ggio had taken a step back towards the door. "Tell your valet to burn everything you're wearing." He had pulled open the double doors and stepped into the earth-toned corridor. He turned to face his lord firmly. "Don't forget your appointment this afternoon."

"Got it."

* * *

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

The sounds of skittish steps alerted Lady Layla Aizen of her upcoming and inevitable disturbance. She had yet to grow accustomed to the droning functions of her anomalous home, even in her long years of residing in the gargantuan house. The lady found her stay increasingly jarring. Every waking second was full of the rusted scent of familiarity—that of the previous day, the one before, and so on…until she wondered when she first started taking notice of such tedious notions.

Minutes ticked by slowly, accompanying the pair of rushing feet that burst forth from her bedroom doors and dashed across her bedchamber as her young maidservant, Orihime Inoue—the daughter of the previous steward—prepared for her lady's awakening.

Though, unaccustomed to the boring methods of her household, Layla had no choice but to follow them without even a hint of complaint. Her father frowned upon conforming, in fact, the man looked down on anything that brought him grand displeasure or proved worthless. The extent of his abhorrence, in her eyes, seemed infinite. But she hardly cared for the actions of those around her as that had been the way she had been raised. Even so her father considered her selfless and unappreciative—he had given her everything, a garden where chickens laid golden eggs and trees sprouted diamonds in their blossoms—and her _dearest_ stepmother thought her to be far too opinionated for any woman in marriageable age that she had the audacity to forbid her from speaking during breakfast, lunch and dinner (if she were forced to attend). Layla occasionally took dinners with her family, but not because she chose not to.

Within the powerful, eminently distinguished Three Families—Yamamoto, Luisenbarn, and the relatively young addition Aizen—Lady Layla was peculiarly known to be the Sheltered Princess of her respective clan and for a singular reason. She was as they paved her to be. While her elder sister, and supposed twin, Sun-Sun paraded around London at the wanton age of seventeen upon her debut—with her mother Fallon as a chaperone, of course—courted and adorned by many her many suitors, Layla spent her time locked away in their annoying large home. If the mere idea of a possible debut amongst society was presented to her father, wagged over his face like a crumb of bread was waved underwater to passive fish, the man facetiously dismissed the thought—crushed the notion from everyone's mind with a saccharinely cold tone of voice that pushed Layla to the precipice of reason.

_"Layla will make her debut into society once the scum return to their burrows."_

Layla Aizen debuted into society exactly one month ago in April where her coming out drew paramount attention within society, especially from the Yamamoto and Luisenbarn, who received an particularly mocking list of revelries she would be attending under her _step_mother's chaperonage and her _twin's_ company. Sometimes her father invited himself to accompany his lovely wife to lessen the duty of watching over his youngest, sickly daughter and during which the Earl, Sōsuke Aizen, schooled Layla in the names and faces of his enemies.

The prestigious, all-powerful Three Families were indeed adversaries in their many underground businesses and on the surface influences and it was a rivalry that could lead to catastrophic wars if agreements and treaties were disregarded for their own egoism.

Layla cringed as streams of obnoxious light fell across her once calm features and the sun warmed her cold cheeks. She curved her slender body preparing for the remainder of the disturbance late that morning. The clock struck noon. Her morning routine began as it always did with the brunette dressed in a custom dark dress worn beneath a frilly white apron bursting forth into her bedroom with her boisterously jolly voice echoing in the darkened space.

"Wake up, my lady!"

Letting out a bothered groan from underneath the shield of a crème colored comforter, Layla rolled onto the other side of her bed, reluctant to awaken.

Breakfast took place within the hour, giving the residents of the home enough time to dress and decide whether or not the family will join at the dining table or eat in their respective boudoirs or studies.

"My lady, you must be up and ready before breakfast. My lord has asked everyone to gather for breakfast, we must make haste before his mood sours," her personal maid pleaded. "I already have your dress prepared."

The lady shook her head, disinclined.

"My lady," she pressed with worry etched in her tone of voice.

Pushing the crème colored sheets off her head, the lady turned to face her maid. She might have been her favorite out of the whole lot, but she wasn't much of an early riser, and acknowledged the much younger girl with a deathly glare.

Orihime pulled her arms up in surrender, even though she had been aware of the kind of reaction her dear lady would have upon awakening.

The lighting of the room stung Layla's eyes, causing her to squint. Long auburn tresses hung about her heart-shaped face, sitting in a curtain of unruly streams. Her loose white nightgown fell over to expose the creamy toned flesh of her left shoulder as she let out a noisy yawn.

"What time is it?" she inquired passively.

The joyful brunette reached the post of her canopy bed to lean forward into the vantage of the grandfather clock sitting beside her lady's dresser and reverted to a proper position before her.

"Ten past noon," she confirmed. "That gives us ample time to have you dressed—"

She blankly watched her lady plop onto bed and heard the rustle of the sheets as the unmotivated woman silently chose an extended half-hour before coming to her senses.

"Lady Layla!" she called strongly, taking the silky coverlet into her stubby fingers and giving one hard tug. "You might have indulged in better sleep had you decided against reading after arriving late from yesterdays revelries, but you did not and it is time for you to wake."

"Enough is enough, _child_."

Layla cursed. Her voice was groggy and unpleasant.

The door opened noisily and a boisterously crude voice called out to Orihime. "Has my _dearest_ sister awakened?"

Orihime frowned childishly. "My lady refuses to ready herself for breakfast."

"_Tsk, tsk, tsk._"

Layla rolled her eyes at the sound of her ill-mannered younger brother's mocking tone and felt his daunting gaze run by her form beneath the comfort of her coverlet.

The pink-haired gentleman invited himself in and strode towards his half-sister's massive bed to greet her with open arms, but turned to face the jovial girl at her bedside before taking another step closer. A crude smile drew his lips and amber eyes narrowed with interest.

"I will take it from here."

Orihime blundered and quickly curtsied, "I'll be taking my leave, excuse me, my lady, my lord," and rushed out of Layla's bedroom. The hair at the back of her neck rose—there was an air of uncertainty about the youngest son of the Aizen household that many household servants found increasingly daunting—for the entirety of sixteen years working the job she had been raised to do, she never felt safe in that young man's presence.

Szayel placed a gloved hand upon her head and began ruffling her hair purposefully. "Breakfast is an important aspect of human health. You of all people should know the consequences of malnutrition and the effects it has on that frail body of yours," he spoke gently, but his tone turned into something littered with dark undertones. "You are always welcomed to skip the essentials and ignore fundamentals. I can always wait until you're on the brink of death to try a series of new tonics I have underway. They will surely boost your deteriorating health—_if not kill you—_or I can have you force fed. I don't mind getting my hands dirty so long as my best subject does not perish."

Layla adamantly tossed her covers from her and lifted her heavy body onto a seat, hardened eyes set in her younger brother's direction.

"You make me sick."

Her curt response dripped of poison as she rubbed her slumberous eyes in a futile gesture to awaken.

"Here is your treat, Szayel. I am awake. Please vacate my room as I am quite capable of dressing without an audience."

She gestured toward the door while pushing her from off the bed and her feet securely on the ground.

"No, no, no," he countered as a smirk curved his lips. "A woman is unable to tie her own corset. I will offer my services to aid your cause. It would be unsightly for you to step into the breakfast hall without it."

Layla frowned at her brother's offer while running her fingers through her auburn locks, undoing the knots that had formed at the tips of reddish tresses. She never intended on wearing that bothersome corset seeing as how it made her feel about being a woman, but it would not change the fact that it was necessary for her to keep up with what society classified as fashionable and she had no intention of turning away from splurging on new imported outfits.

Turning to her brother she gave a silent agreement.

With a clap of his hands, he got moved away from the comfort of her bed, grabbed a hold of her head, and gave it a gentle tug. Layla glared. "Well. You can't expect me to lift you out of bed and carry you into the bathroom do you?"

"I did," she replied crassly. "I also expected you to hold my hand as I peed."

Layla sluggishly climbed off her bed as he let out a disturbed chuckle. She headed into the adjacent bathroom, slamming the door shut before her brother dared refute against her ill-humored, unladylike suggestion.

* * *

Szayel shot a fleeting glance at his sister. She was covered in the finest fabrics available to their family, draped in carnation pink satin adorned with pale pink lace around the hem and skirt in vivid crisscrosses. The bodice was strapless, adorned with clear lace at the edges and a straight row of buttons down the center. Her arms were both gloved in high matching pink, one that brought out the deep colors of the lace and the obnoxiously large tail of her dress.

Layla fidgeted in discomfort and as helpful as her brother might have promised to be, the constricting corset beneath her bodice was threatening to asphyxiate her. He might have tightened it more than normal. She heard a low chuckle escape his lips and in turn she glared. The clank of her heels resonated through the hall, giving the bland passageway an eerie feel as she was escorted to breakfast by her brother.

The two arrived fashionably late, according to her younger brother's curt whisper. Their small family had already been served and started breakfast without them. Their father shot one glance at the two and turned his attention back to his wineglass. Szayel and Layla took their seats beside one another and across their stepmother and older sister. They were outlandishly clad in frilly dresses, while Fallon's burgundy gown outshone her daughter. Sun-Sun wore one of her most expensive pieces, a deep green chiffon dress with a dip on the center that showed her assets marvelously. She wore a deep grimace, bothered by the lack of reprimands directed at her siblings from their father, who seemed more lenient on them.

Fallon cleared her throat, catching their attention. "It's rude to arrive late to breakfast."

"Leave them," Earl Aizen responded as he took a sip of his red wine. His brown orbs darted towards his children, eyeing them in scrutiny as he set his glass upon the sleek table's surface. "I'm sure they have perfectly good reasons as to why they were both late. Correct?"

Layla rested her elbows on the table, turning her head away from her father's scrutiny. She had a decent reason to clarify her _unforgivable_ tardiness, but knew that that explanation would not fancy her father.

Szayel did not take interest in explaining his actions and turned from the question.

"Layla," her father called passively. "Elbows off the table, you forget you're a lady."

Listening, she removed her elbows from the table, placing her hands beneath it, crumbling up the unruly frills of her own fashion-forward dress. After a few minutes, given the time it took for the butler to reheat the food, Szayel and Layla were both served breakfast. Both took small bites of their food, their faces cringed in disdain.

Layla pulled her napkin to her face after tasting something disgusting. Spitting it out into her napkin, she crumbled it up and set it aside.

"Father, may I?"

With a nod, her father allowed her to speak.

"I would like to go to the market," she started formally. "There were new trades of fabrics arriving this week. I hoped to buy a few for a new evening gown to wear for the Laxton's revelries."

"Do as you will," he consented. "Be sure to return by noon."

He might have given her some regard, but his eyes were fixed on the paper in his hand.

Layla celebrated the victory in her head. Simply asking to go out for a small walk around the town resulted in having her take a heavily guarded walk around the garden, which she abhorred. Stepping out of the property without bodyguards resulted in dire consequences within their social circle. Sōsuke Aizen was involved with famous figureheads as a member of the grand Three Families—practical royalty—all around the world and with his familiarity with such persons; he was often invited to all sorts of gatherings.

As the conversation took a sharp turn towards the upcoming engagement party, Layla found herself despising the upcoming events. She hated social gatherings, but only attended to boast her father's appearance and had been quite the talk around town upon her debut. She hoped the rumors of her upbringing could die down already as she had grown tired of dealing with them.

She attended all the revelries escorted by her younger brother as Sun-Sun had plenty of suitors to take her to those events, ignoring ridicule thrown in her siblings' direction.

"It is quite unsettling to get a gown made a few days before the engagement party," stated Fallon callously. "It is truly quite careless of you, _darling._"

Layla chewed her food slowly and swallowed, wiping her mouth with the napkin she stole from Szayel while he averted his attention.

"I have a dress," she countered. "Though, it's not fitting of my tastes. I would like the tailor to create a few options." She took a sip of orange juice, tasting the sour bits of the fruit at the bottom of the glass. She tried to keep her face calm, though she could feel herself shudder. "Is your dress prepared for the evening, _mother_?"

"Sun-Sun and I have been quite prepared for some time," admitted Fallon with a curt nod. She turned her attention to her husband. "Who is attending the party again, darling?"

"Quite a number of interesting individuals," he answered, staring at his dark-haired wife. A playful smile appeared on his face as he delved into the amount of enemies he'd meet with at the gathering. "Let's see, Luisenbarn and Yamamoto, along with their corresponding familiars will be attending."

"The amount of bachelors attending will be overflowing and it would be the perfect time for our _daughters_ to take their pick," Fallon decided with a clap of her hands. "Don't you think, daring?"

Taking another long sip of his glass, the head of the family finished his wine.

"Yes, do take the opportunity to fraternize with the many bachelors in the engagement party. I am sure you have been taught well by your mother." The smile disappeared from his face as he folded his paper. Pulling himself out of his seat, the tall man pulled a top hat over his head. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have got enough work to take care of."

With that, the man brusquely left the room, leaving the tensions to rise within the four remaining members.

"Szayel, it would do you good to look for a fiancée as well, you are about to come of age already," Fallon suggested.

"Women bring much disdain to me," Szayel replied curtly and he swiped his napkin from his sister, feeling her elbow him savagely after his comment. "They do nothing but moan and whine, it's quite unflattering if I do say so myself."

Fallon looked distraught.

"Excuse me. I lost my appetite," Szayel stated, dropping his napkin on top of his plate.

"I must get going as well," Layla added. She rose from her seat and sauntered towards the exit. Without giving so much as an excuse, Layla headed straight towards the entrance of her home, prepared to run the entire courtyard to escape into the market where she would devise her plan.

"My lady!" a cheerful voice called, stopping her dead in her tracks. She only had time to take her purse from the counter at the door before her personal maid caught her. Turning around, she smiled kindly. "You almost left without taking your bodyguard."

"Oh my, how could I ever forget?" Layla said, stabbing herself internally.

The idea of the escape was not to have a shadow trailing after her making sure no one laid a hand on her. This was a peculiar aspect of her anomalous family. Something that brought deep suspicion in the ordeals her father, a well-known aristocrat, had been mixing in and the dangers that had been thrust upon their arms with a simple explanation.

"Of course." The young girl smiled. "I'll go call a coach to drive you into town. Mr. Madarame should be here shortly."

Layla arched an eyebrow. She had expecting her usual bodyguard, which was a tiny woman with a panic inducing glare. Given the male guard, her chances of escaping were guaranteed. She waited patiently, knowing the perky brunette would be outside waiting for her to try running away. Layla had every possible situation in mind. She could easily pull her heels off, run towards the nearest wall, and climb it with ease. It was something she picked up from the servant's children when she was growing up.

She sighed and heard the clack of shoes tapping against the marble.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long, Lady Layla."

The lady turned around to face her guard for the day. He was a tall, bald man in black. She wondered if that was discreet enough to avoid suspicion.

"Let's get going."

The door swung open almost slamming into Layla's face, but her trusted guard was quick to remove her.

The brown-haired girl poked her head in, staring at her lady apologetically. "Forgive me."

Layla brushed herself off, removing the man's hands from her bare shoulders.

"I'm quite all right," she reported, exiting the manor.

"The coach is waiting outside with your carriage," Orihime called.

"Thank you, Orihime."

Layla walked down the steps and headed into the extravagant courtyard. Her guard walked behind her, like a shadow. She took quick strides as she contemplated a plan to ensure her imminent getaway. There were many ways to go around it. She could immobilize him by accidentally kicking him between the legs and take the few seconds of his pain to make her exit.

_This is a bigger hassle that predicted_, she internally cursed.

The man opened the carriage door, eyeing the coach carefully. Layla climbed inside, plopping down on the left, ignoring the new tapestries of her carriage. Anything changed in it was ridiculous. She leaned back against the comfortable seats as her bodyguard climbed inside, sitting down across her with a stern look on his face.

The second he closed the door, she heard the coach bring the reins down on the horses. Hearing the gruff snort of the horses, the carriage began to move toward the gate.

The ambience, full of silence and slight awkwardness, appeased her. She was used to chatting with the help, but not so much with this man. She found him to be quite intimidating; it might have been his gleaming head, but she could not be certain.

She stared out the small window of her carriage, feeling the bumps of the roads, allowing discomfort to set into her usually composed features. She felt her fingers pressing against one another, the sound of the thin fabric felt strange against her fingertips. She hated gloves, but wore them reluctantly because according to her dresser, the dress would lose its beauty without the matching gloves. The texture that made up her long gloves caused her skin to irritate, turning red under the cloth.

She shot a quick glance to her guard. The man had a tense aura radiating from him as he kept his eyes facing forward.

She coughed suddenly.

"I feel a bit dizzy," she began, glancing out the window. "Might it be too much to ask for a break?"

"Stop the carriage!" Ikkaku shouted from inside and sure enough the coach listened; the carriage came to a sudden halt. "A bit of fresh air will be able to cure that. Let's step out."

Ikkaku opened the door for her.

Layla struggled to step out of the carriage once the tail of her skirt got caught beneath her feet, but managed once he pulled the fabric away.

"That's quite thoughtful, Ikkaku." She smiled. She held her gloved hand over the nook of her neck, taking in some fresh air. "Would you be kind enough to fetch me some water?"

"I'll be right back," Ikkaku agreed.

He left towards the nearest shop. They were a few feet away from the frequented market place, but Layla had not hoped to visit it. She simply wanted to take a long walk to strip herself of her worries and boredom. She waited a few seconds, watching her guard run further away. Her eyes darted off to the older male acting as coach, who was too busy tending to his horses. Taking the opening, she walked off the side of the road, heading into the sea of trees separating the twin streets leading into the market's entrance.

She took quiet steps to go unnoticed for a few more seconds before using the opportunity to run. Of course, being quite rash, she hardly had time to remove her heels. The ground was quite flat so she needn't worry. The sea of trees didn't stretch very far, only a few feet before the next road where the entrance appeared.

She walked onto the side of the road wiping her brow, the sun's rays spilling heavily over pale skin. She couldn't help but want a drink of water at that point. She glanced down at her purse and opened it. To her surprise, she still had a few coins leftover from the last time she had gone to the market. She could buy something to drink from a nearby shop. She took a deep breath, feeling a brisk gust of wind whip against her face. The sense of freedom was relieving.

"Get out of my house!" an alarmingly loud voice shouted.

With her interest piqued, Layla turned her head towards the shouting. A woman was throwing out articles of clothing to a man lying on the ground from the second story balcony of her humble home. As numerous thoughts entered her head, she noticed the sound of reins and horses fast approaching. Tensing up from the idea that she might have been caught, she turned her head slightly to peek over her shoulder.

The sight of a carriage, driven by a dark-skinned coach, should have frightened her considering it was headed directly in her direction at increasing speed.

She stood her ground blankly, she had every right to be walking in the side of the street, every other pedestrian had, yet the coach hadn't moved from the road. The seconds ticked by and letting out a yelp, the woman leapt back onto the nearest grass area.

Her body hit hard against the ground, tearing the fabric of her dress. The carriage halted hastily. A door slammed open and a pair of quick steps drew her attention as she snapped her head in their direction while attempting to remedy her situation, but quickly turned to ignore them at the sight of help. Her hair cascaded over her bare shoulders in disarray, the pins holding it back had fallen out…forever lost amongst a thousand blades of grass.

She sighed, rubbing the side of her face, and pulled her gloves off.

"Kaname, pay attention, you almost ran over that bystander!" a loud voice reprimanded.

Layla bit her lip at the sound of the word _bystander_, which she most certainly was not.

The reprimanding man bit his tongue upon recognizing the lady and her importance among society.

"My lord," the man called once more, rattling the carriage.

"What?" a deeper, disturbed voice answered.

"I believe we almost hit Earl Aizen's daughter…" the first man whispered harshly to his employer, "It would be unwise to leave the lady in a state of shock."

Layla frowned, trying to pull herself up, ignoring the ongoing conversation..

The young man's lord sighed exasperatedly, bothered by the sound of the suggestion.

"Shit," he cursed. "I better get to some formalities." Another pair of feet stepped out of the carriage. "In the mean time, scold that idiot for me, will you? Five times in one day, how embarrassing."

Trying to quicken the process of gathering herself off the ground without looking like a complete mess, failed when she noticed a pair of feet standing in front of her. Following the man's long legs, up his torso, her eyes met with an intriguing pair of eyes. He was a man of defined aristocracy, wearing a black suit: a tailcoat with a pair of well-fitted pants. His hair was a dark brown and well kept, tied back in a low ponytail, a pair of slate orbs, and a goatee.

The man courteously placed his hand in front of her, letting out a yawn in the process. "My lady."

Frowning, the disinclined woman placed her only gloved hand on his. The man pulled her to her feet effortlessly and she came almost face to face with him.

She pulled away from his grasp quickly. "That was quite an endearment."

She brushed off the dirt off her sullied dress. Pink was certainly not the color to where on a day like that, where her life had been endangered of being hit by a lunatic driving a carriage. She could hear the reprimands of the small boy on the side of the carriage.

"Here, allow me to help you somewhere safe for you to walk on, ma'am." The man spoke, his arm wound around her shoulders carefully leading her towards the road, slowly.

He treated her like an elderly woman and even had the audacity to call her _ma'am_. She felt her eyebrows knit in utter frustration, not only because she was being treated like a woman thirty times her age, but also because she was being touched by a complete stranger.

She managed a way out of his hold with a cold grimace.

The man arched an eyebrow as her glare met his careful gaze.

"I appreciate the kind gesture, but I'm not a simple-minded old woman, contrary to how you've been treating me," she stated forcefully.

"Excuse me, _madam_, but it's not every day a bright-minded young lady steps in front of a moving carriage," he countered. "So, pardon me for not knowing how to react to the situation."

"I was in every right to walk along the side of the road!" she said, jabbing her finger against his chest. "It was your inconsiderately stupid coach that had every intention of flattening me!"

He watched the gesture the woman had thrown in the direction of his employees and turned to face them before running his eyes over her again. Her once beautiful dress was now sullied in grass stains and dirt, torn lace and silk.

_Not today. _He sighed turning away from the daintily-clad woman, letting out an exhausted sigh. He did not like the situation one bit; the fact that she was the daughter of another aristocrat was the sole reason why he stepped out of the carriage, but to come face to face with a member of the Three Families certainly changed everything. The previous five persons were hits and misses, but they didn't bother to step out and apologize.

"I apologize for my driver's idiocy," he admitted, feeling the guilt was well placed. He gave her a curt bow before allowing his eyes to meet with hers once more. "I'll be sure to have my family's doctor check his sight as soon as we return home."

As Layla prepared herself to speak, she encountered another rude interruption. This time it was the man's driver speaking in accordance to his master's last comment.

"I'm blind, my lord."

A brief silence surrounded them. There were too many problems with the situation; the most prominent of them all was having hired a _blind _coach.

The dark haired male let a frown appear on his face. He forced his composure when he turned back to the auburn haired woman.

"_Hmm_, well then…on that note, I'll be off," he said, ignoring the previous comment. "Once again, pardon my blind driver for his mistake. A fine day to you milady."

He gave another bow and started toward his carriage.

Layla watched the man giving the younger dark-haired male the job of _temporary _coach, while directing the blind man into the carriage. He shot another glance at her before entering his carriage. The new coach bowed his head respectfully to the maiden.

"Good day to you, Lady Layla Aizen."

Watching the carriage bustle away into the market, she hadn't noticed her name being called. She felt a cold hand on her shoulder and she turned around slowly, coming face to face with Ikkaku, a frightening stare adorned his once passive features.

"Milady, I've searched everywhere," he spoke, teeth gritted.

Layla forced a laugh. "Forgive me, I must have fallen into the sea of trees and rolled…"

"Rolled a few too many feet, didn't ya?" he asked.

She nodded, gulping nervously. "I think I'd like to return home now, sir."

"Yeah, I thought so."


	2. A Piece of All

**Masquerade**

Chapter 2

-_**A Piece of All**_-

_Sometimes the mystery dwindles,_

_At times…it falters_

_But as the mystery grows deeper_

_Hearts must pull up their stronghold_

_And cling to what remains_

_Even if it is of meager importance_

Entering her seemingly vacant home, she let out an exhausted sigh. Layla felt a mixture of emotions—of anxiety and insult—at the occurrences of that day.

Shooting another fleeting glance at Ikkaku Madarame—who had shadowed her every move upon catching her in the midst of escape—the feelings building in her chest fluctuated as her guard excused himself at the front door to run through a list of jobs he needed to cross out.

She only agreed to return home because of the humiliation experienced and the unsightliness of her visage presented a horrible image of a young lady. And even though she wished to keep everything a secret, she was met by many curious individuals attempting to gnaw out the truth leading to her mortification, but most inquiries found themselves ignored. If her own bodyguard could not get the information out of her, no one could.

The trip back to her manor was ridden in silence and the oddities presented beforehand remained unmentioned.

The thought of that man continued to plague her.

_What an audacious fool, s_he cursed, biting onto her glove.

Thankfully, the only other people present had been engaged in conversation beside the carriage to witness her most horrid nightmare.

Layla headed straight to her room, taking a few shortcuts to get there faster and arrived unnoticed by anyone else than the servants that greeted her in the foyer. She wished she had been born a shadow that could travel through walls to save her any further ridicule.

Enough was _enough_.

Sun-Sun came into view, holding an opened fan over her mouth, her eyes catching side at her sister's disheveled form. "You look awful."

_I am most certainly aware._

"Excuse me," Layla replied curtly, speeding past her dark-haired sister.

A laugh escaped Sun-Sun's lips as she noticed the tears upon precious fabric.

Layla felt the glare of her eyes, staring at the rips of her once well-tailored suit. It had been the pride and joy of the woman who made it. If said woman laid eyes on the now tattering gown, she would faint or choke Layla for being so careless. At that point, any heavenly punishment was acceptable, just that it murdered her first and then went after the blind man who forced her into jumping onto the bumpy terrain.

"My, my, my, whose cat did you run into?"

"It wasn't a cat; an aristocrat's coach almost hit me," she replied disdainfully.

She entered her room tailed by her younger brother, who in contrast to the well-composed man he was that morning wore a white coat over his suit. There were traces of blood on the white cloth, but no sign of injury of him.

"What have you been doing all day?" she asked curiously, preferring to speak of him than of herself.

He chuckled darkly. "I've been investing all my time on the wondrous world of science."

Layla stepped into her boudoir in search of another outfit to wear. She wasn't one for choosing outfits on her own; her attire was usually laid out for her. Seeing no need to cry for help as she had hands and didn't need someone to wait on her left and right, she pulled a number of gowns from her closet.

Szayel made his way towards her bed and plopped down atop it, patting the satin sheets.

Layla turned to face him briefly before she continued looking through her closet for a new outfit. Everything inside her closet was arranged in a way, she experienced troubles trying to figure out how everything went together.

"You need to find interest in our father's work before he decides to send you off to war as well," she stated.

"Brother joined the army, he wasn't sent. In fact, I do believe it was father's dirty meddling that led him in that direction," he commented smartly.

"I also think he made a marvelous decision."

"You have yet to answer my question," Szayel brought up.

"I ran away from the bodyguard to get fresh air," she admitted with a sigh. "As I was walking towards the market, I found myself facing death. Thankfully, I managed to trip on a slippery rock and fall back onto the ground. The terrain wasn't kind to the pricey fabrics that created this dress. That is the story of m y misfortune."

"How would you ever face death and avoid it by tripping?"

"Easily," she explained. "The lunatic driving that rampaging carriage head straight at me, but a mere slip of my feet saved me by an inch."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I might be too irritated to answer your question," she mumbled.

"I'm still expecting an answer," Szayel stated.

"Feel free to continue waiting."

The doors slammed opened, alerting the two. Both turned their heads back to look past the open door, seeing a panic-stricken Orihime trying to convince a petite, dark-haired woman from entering the room in the midst of her tirade.

Once the small woman refused to return to her halted duties, Orihime walked right in, bowing apologetically. "Forgive our intrusion."

"I heard Madarame and the new recruit conversion of your return and your reluctance to admit that you were a victim of a grand injustice," she began, each time taking a step closer to her employer's daughter. "I also heard a series of questionable rumors that a member of the Three Families was almost flattened by the carriage of another on the venue towards the market."

Layla huffed with the same reluctance the woman spoke of, ignoring the occurrence that may have almost killed her or at least mortally wounded her.

"Honestly, doesn't anyone have anything better to do than spread rumors?" she asked, avoiding the remembrance from resurfacing in her mind.

"We live in a society that grows from lies others spread," Szayel commented.

"Oh, please," Layla rolled her eyes. "Soifon, disregard such rumors, because as my brother mentioned, they are lies."

"Don't think me a fool, I can tell you were a part of that incident by the tatters of that dress," Soifon stated, irritated.

"I rolled down a hill," Layla stated stubbornly.

"Continue lying to me," Soifon warned. "You are giving me more of a reason to investigate this incident."

"I'm not lying," she continued.

"You just blinked five consecutive times after your previous statements; you are most certainly lying to me," she accused. "If you are going to continue being reluctant. I'll give you this entire day to tell me, or I'll make sure to further question you with permission from your father."

Soifon glared at her once more, turned on her heel, and left the room without another word as she shoved past Orihime on the way.

Orihime watched Soifon leave the room and then looked back at Layla and Szayel, smiling apologetically. She bowed, excused herself, and closed the doors.

"It's awfully rude to lie to her," Szayel commented, leaning against the plush pillows stacked against the headboard of her mattress, "Especially when you are so predictable."

"If I would have given her the story straight, she would be on her way to murder said aristocrat and coach," Layla replied.

"Letting her kill one or two people wouldn't hurt effect us," he said, smirking at the thought.

"It could bring us more problems than the ones already tailing us because of our father. It could bring about a war against one of the other two families if that aristocrat belonged to Luisenbarn or Yamamoto," Layla reprimanded. "And that's the least of our worries. They have been itching to pick a fight with our father for the longest time. Giving them an opening would simply give them something to laugh about."

"What if he wasn't an aristocrat of Luisenbarn or Yamamoto?" he inquired.

"He looked like a part of one of the two families. It would explain the guard," she retorted.

"What guard?" he inquired. "You refused to tell me, remember?"

"Forget it."

"Are you afraid of death?" Szayel queried after a pregnant silence with a hint of curiosity.

Layla looked back at Szayel with a frown. "Of course I am, coming from the family we're from, shouldn't I?" she questioned, hands on her hips.

"You forget the security our family has as well," he added.

"They're human too," she reminded him. "Or, did you forget that, Szayel?"

Szayel laughed mockingly. He shook his head. "I may have allowed that detail to slip me by."

Layla glared at him and threw the velvet green jacket she had picked out of one of her trunks at him.

Szayel rolled over, laughing with amusement.

"Get out."

"Why?" he asked, curious.

"I'm going to dress—OUT!" she ordered, pointing to the door.

Szayel lifted himself off the bed. "I'll wait for you outside, I'd like to show you something once you've finished."

* * *

A bustling twelve-year-old girl made her way down a flight of stairs, pink eyes looking around expectantly. She went on her way through the unfamiliar halls of the family's London vacationing home, searching for her elder brother with slight desperation.

"Starrk!" she called loudly.

There was no response. The gargantuan home almost seemed abandoned, not even the hired work had shown their face since the morning.

Lilynette had finally been allowed out of her studies and her etiquette instructor had long ago retired to their home.

She stopped inside the foyer and balled her small hands into fists.

"I bet the bastard snuck out again!" she cursed, taking a small excursion towards the guesthouse connected to their vacationing manor. The lime-haired girl headed into the stone walkway beneath the shade of various arches leading toward it.

She pinched her dress up to keep it from getting caught in her shoes. The tailor ruined her measurements making the dress much longer than necessary, causing the orange fabric to drag along the ground. She had tripped on it earlier that morning when she was walking to the salon to practice her singing, which she hated, but was forced to do.

She entered the guesthouse and looked onward, expecting to see their bodyguards slacking off, but they were nowhere in sight. In fact, the place looked equally lonesome.

She frowned.

_That damned lot of lazy—_

She heard a distant humming and turned to her right to the larger pearlescent staircase sitting besides the entrance. She rushed up the staircase quickly, taking time with each step so her bothersome heels wouldn't kill her on her way up. The humming was becoming clearer and the voice familiarizing.

She became frustrated.

If that man was up there humming, singing, or dancing it meant their most reliable asset was out catering with the every whim of a certain irresponsible and unreliable man.

"Charlotte!" she shouted, catching the attention of the tall, burly man in an elaborate violet evening gown waltzing around the upstairs salon. The man stopped and turned to face her instantly, a delighted smile on his puckered, glossy lips.

"Miss Lilynette, what a great pleasure to have you here!" Charlotte clamored. "What brings you here, my girl?"

Lilynette narrowed her eyes in disdain. "Where's Starrk?"

"Ah, the viscount has gone away to the market in company of Ggio and Kaname," he knowingly replied.

"Why didn't you go with him?" Lilynette asked, taking a step back instinctively.

"Because the viscount thought it would be a great idea for me to find a proper outfit for the engagement party this weekend," Charlotte clamored, posing seductively in front of a full body mirror. He puckered his lips again and bat his eyelashes.

"You're not planning on wearing that dress in particular, are you?" Lilynette asked, disgusted.

"Of course, it brings out the color of my eyes, the viscount said so as well," Charlotte stated, without offense.

_Ugh…so he lied to this gender-confused man so he could manipulate Ggio easily_.

Lilynette laughed nervously. "He was right…it does."

She might have vomited slightly in her mouth after lying to the man. Instead of staying there, she turned towards the staircase once again.

Charlotte perked up. "Are you leaving already?"

Lilynette nodded. "We're having lunch soon. You know how angry grandfather gets when we're tardy," she lied, walking down the staircase slowly.

Charlotte rushed towards the railing. "Lunch isn't for another hour!"

"I like being at the table an hour earlier!" she shouted back, before running out of the house like a bolt of lightning.

How that man ever managed to get a job with their family, she would never know. When they were in any danger, Ggio Vega was the only one to display an ample amount of skill, while Charlotte Cuulhourne didn't move an inch out of fear of breaking one of his well-polished nails.

Lilynette reentered her home, looking over the peach-colored wallpaper when she heard the doors slam open followed by familiar voices. She walked down the hall towards the entrance slowly, noticing the clacking of her heels would probably give her away. Instead, she pulled them off and continued stepping lithely towards the foyer, unnoticed by the three men.

"What should I do with him?" Ggio questioned with a hint of irritation.

"Buy him a cane."

"You can't be serious. He should be fired for his—"

"He's only blind. And one of six accidents that involved an important aristocrats isn't that bad."

"You should be happy she wasn't killed!" Ggio reprimanded.

"Who wasn't killed?" Lilynette asked, calling attention to herself.

All of them looked at her, surprised. Starrk rubbed the back of his head, while Ggio and Kaname bowed to the young girl.

"It was no one," Starrk replied, heading towards the staircase.

"Don't lie to me!" Lilynette protested. "And where have you been all day!"

"I went out."

"Come, Kaname," Ggio ordered, dragging the blind man away after the other two trotted up the staircase.

"Of course, you went out! I'm not stupid!" she shouted, following him into the hallway.

"Go play with your dolls, I'm going to sleep."

"Lunch is in an hour," Lilynette reminded him.

"I'm not hungry."

Starrk walked inside his bedroom and shut the door on her face.

Lilynette could sense Starrk's irritation and in some strange way he took it out on her when he slammed that door in her face. She glared at the wooden door and kicked it harshly.

"You're going to eat lunch 'cause I said so!" she shouted. "Or I'll drag you out!"

Lilynette huffed and continued down the hallway towards her bedroom. After passing three doors to her right, she opened the double doors of her room and walked in, slamming them shut.

She headed out to the balcony, only shooting a small glance at her large bed seated in the left and the wardrobe on her right. She slammed the glass doors open, walking out and leaning against the railing of her tiny balcony. She had a better view of the small garden behind the guesthouse on the grounds, it was much simpler than the one they had back at home.

She sighed, feeling homesick and looked down. Ggio was walking back towards the manor, a sour expression on his face.

"Ggio!" she called.

Ggio stepped out from the archway leading toward the guesthouse and looked to the balcony where she stood.

"My lady." he answered.

"Why is Starrk angry?"

She figured if her brother wasn't speaking, she would get it out of his trusted guard.

"He's not angry."

"Then why is he irritated?"

"I didn't let him sleep, as you ordered."

Lilynette frowned, not gaining the response she wanted so she allowed her mind to venture elsewhere. "Who was it that you almost killed?"

Ggio seemed to have gulped, nervously. "No one, my lady."

"Don't lie to me or I'll throw this flower pot at you!" she threatened, pointing at one of the three flowerpots that adorned the thick railing with colorful roses and daffodils.

"I've been sworn to secrecy by my lord," he said quickly.

"You're telling me anyways!"

"It is forbidden!"

Lilynette grabbed the nearest flowerpot and let it fall over Ggio. He sidestepped, scarcely avoiding it.

"I've got two more pots I can throw at you!" Lilynette warned. "You decide!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't say."

Lilynette reached for another pot. "Then suffer my wrath," she muttered, letting another pot fall directly over his head.

Again, he managed to avoid it by moving out of the way in the nick of time. "You'll get in trouble with your grandfather by doing this."

"If you don't tell me, I'll relay the message to my grandfather and tell them you, Kaname, and Starrk almost killed someone!" she stated.

"No, don't!" he shouted, finally frightened by the young girl's threats.

"Are you telling me then?"

"We had more than a few accidents on the way to the marketplace and at the entrance we ran into the earl's daughter, having almost killed her accidentally," he spilled quickly, smashing words together.

Lilynette arched an eyebrow, puzzled yet intrigued.

"Which earl?" she asked.

"Aizen," Ggio responded slowly.

"If my grandfather finds out all of you are so dead!" she stated, alarmed.

"Yes, but my lord went out to express his apologies!" he countered, defending all of them.

"It doesn't matter, what if that woman tells her father? She would be the type to want to get everyone in trouble!" Lilynette stated, having met the dark-haired daughter of the earl once during a gathering. She sneered at the sight of the Luisenbarn family and continued on her merry way to meet with her two other aristocratic friends, Mila Rose and Apache. Lilynette had wanted to throw something at her, but her cousin stopped her.

"Well, I understand the consequences, but we would have to wait to see if she does indeed tell her father of our mishap," Ggio commented. "Besides, she didn't seem to recognize any of us."

"But we've met already." Lilynette found it strange. They had only met a week ago during the birthday party of another noble that was tied to the hierarchy of England.

"A demand would arrive immediately if we were in trouble, don't let it worry you; your grandfather wouldn't allow anything to happen to you."

That was the biggest lie she was told in ages. Her grandfather didn't care about anything as long as his business was kept running. That's why he forced both she and Starrk to go with him to England because there were a few trades he wanted to get out of the way, but he was invited to a whirl of gatherings that postponed most of his original plans.

Something wasn't right and when she heard the stomping across the hallway, she was alarmed. She turned back, her eyes at her door, waiting for the bellow of her grandfather.

* * *

Two tall blond men stood besides one another, each of them wearing matching officer uniforms with tall boots in the middle of the Romani Plaza, where the Roma gathered.

The lankier man with a fringe stepped forward, away from the large water fountain they stood in front of. He tugged at his necktie, pulling the ribbon off; bothered by the silk it was made of and suffocated by the collar of his white dress shirt.

"Where's that brat?" he cursed.

"Patience, Shinji," the wavy-haired man responded.

"What's there ta be patient about?" Shinji asked, bothered. "That blond brat promised us some clear facts on the Three Families and she's been gone for over an hour!"

"I'm sure her parents might have kept her, she's still only a teenager," his partner commented.

"This is the last time I trust a gypsy!" Shinji stated. "You too Rose."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know the rules; you should pay attention to all the citizens of the city," Rose reminded. "Every thought counts."

"They're gypsies." Shinji turned to him disdainfully. "They lie, they steal, and they cheat, and hate everyone."

"You're categorizing again."

"I can do whatever I want," Shinji decided, turning away.

"Oh, here she comes," Rose pointed out, joining his partner, gesturing down the other end of the street.

Shinji followed his gesture and saw a blond teenage girl running towards them in a feathering outfit with a raven-haired girl being dragged along behind her. The two girls stopped in front of the officers, breathing heavily and muttering to each other a few secrets they had forgotten to mention to one another beforehand.

The blond girl looked up at Shinji with narrowed eyes and drew her companion in front of the two men. "Here! She can tell you everything about those families you want to arrest."

"Rangiku!" the raven-haired girl protested. Rangiku wasn't going according to the plans they had decided after the long hour of convincing it took to drag her along.

"What's the meaning of this ya brat?" Shinji asked, angry. Rangiku had promised them information and excused herself as if having to search for it. Now that she returned, she brought another girl from her tribe.

Rose placed his hand on Shinji's shoulder. "What information have you to offer?" he inquired nicely.

"Hey, if you're just going to call us brats, we'll just take our information elsewhere," Rangiku stated, pulling at her friend's arm. "Come on, Hisana."

Hisana looked at Rangiku. "But you just—"

"Don't complain, come on!"

"Fine, I take it back," Shinji stated, letting out a sigh. "What information have ya ta offer on the Three Families?" He changed his tone to a simplistic approach. He was against having to ask them any questions since he had faced many misfortunes alongside the gypsies.

"What do I tell them?" Hisana asked, looking at Rangiku.

"Nothing," Rangiku stated with a huff. "He didn't say sorry."

"You're being rash."

Shinji rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry," he recited, forced.

Rangiku smiled victoriously. "Tell him Hisana."

"Tell him, what?" Hisana asked, bemused.

"The family!" Rangiku said, letting her go.

"Which family?" Hisana pressed.

Rangiku looked back to Shinji and Rose, puzzled over Hisana's inquiry. "What family?" she asked, forgetting the reason why she dragged Hisana.

Shinji turned away and moved from the two, tapping Rose on the shoulder to take his place. Rose sighed and took a step forward. "We came for information on the largest and most powerful families currently residing in England," Rose explained. "We heard the members of the Roma caravan had a lot of insight on the dominating clans."

"Yeah, we have information," Rangiku cut in before Hisana could speak. "But it'll cost you."

Rose turned to Shinji, who looked like he was forcing himself to stay silent. Shinji dug into his pants pocket and handed Rose a small sack that noisily clattered when it landed on his hand.

Rose turned to Rangiku and handed it to her, placing it on her opened hand. "This should be enough."

Rangiku tugged at the thin ribbon that bound the small bag closed and peeked inside. She elbowed Hisana so she would look inside. When she did, her dark eyes widened in surprise. There was a large amount of gold coins inside of it.

"We can't have this," Hisana whispered harshly.

"Shut up. We can buy food with this!" Rangiku whispered back. "So tell them what you know."

Both of them looked at the two adults, smiling widely. Hisana stepped forward, the rustling of her jewelry ringing when it hit against one another.

"You two want to know all we know of the three clans, then?" she asked again to be certain.

Rose nodded. "Yes, anything that could help us find them guilty of all the crimes filed against them."

Hisana turned to Rangiku uneasily, but she pushed her forward slightly so she could continue. Hisana looked back to Rose, causing some suspicion. "The bits of information I'm entitled to say may not aid you in your investigations, but they might help you in some other way," Hisana began. "A conflict will arise between the youngest and oldest of leaders. There will be an opening for officials like yourself, but if you miss it, you'll have to wait for more years to pass before the next."

Rose looked to Shinji. "Oldest and youngest?" He arched an eyebrow, confused.

"Luisenbarn and Aizen," Shinji responded.

Rose turned back to Hisana. "Is that all?" he asked nicely.

Hisana shifted her weight. "Watch out for the heirs to each clan," Hisana added. "With that you should be set."

Rose turned to Shinji, again. "The heirs?" he inquired.

Shinji shrugged. "They've been keeping their heirs a secret," Shinji clarified.

"You think Love might know?" Rose asked.

"You two should be careful, one of you will be entwined with one of the three clans," Hisana said, catching their attention again.

"You've said enough. Hisana, let's go," Rangiku stated, pulling on Hisana's arm.

"I'm giving them their money's worth," Hisana replied.

"Why does that conflict begin?" Shinji asked, curious.

Hisana smiled lightly. "Over the simplest of things," she replied. "Nice doing business with you."

"Bye!" Rangiku waved, while Hisana bowed accordingly. They both trotted away, looking more than happy.

"That sounds like bogus to me," Shinji stated, turning on his heel and heading towards the exit of the Romani Plaza.

Rose followed his partner. "But all those warnings seem plausible," he decided. "I'm not one for soothsaying, but that seemed pretty strange, don't you agree?"

"It'd be stupid of us to trust in the words of a soothsayer, those weren't actual facts they were predictions," Shinji stated. "We needed facts that can connect them to their corresponding rings. Like the fact that the Black Market has been opened somewhere in England under the order of one of the three family leaders or that the drug trade made a rise and its leader is being kept under wraps."

Rose nodded, finding some truth in his partner's words. "But, when she mentioned bewaring of the heirs, do we have any idea who they are?" he inquired.

"No, we can't be sure, only those in the families and the ones who work with them know. They've gone out of their way to keep them a secret, but not their family members so we've got a lot of information on them alone," Shinji explained, thinking his words through. "If you think about it, they aren't the type of men who would automatically give their business off to the eldest male in the family. They would need someone of caliber that would be able to continue their legacy and make sure its production would continue to grow."

"But, we have enough information on every family member, don't we?" Rose suggested. "Maybe we could figure something out…"

"From what I've gathered in records, Yamamoto had three daughters, each married and bore children, but they passed away with their husbands when a ship to the Americas sunk," Shinji recalled, having heard of the story when he was still a child. "Luisenbarn had two daughters, one who was a part of one of the biggest scandals back in their country, which is why he disowned her since she bore a child to a different man. They each have their share of grandchildren most of them are male as well. As for Aizen, who just surfaced into the underground eleven years ago is known for having the darkest business among all. He is hated for having more success, or so I heard. He has a son in the army and one that has a few loose screws. Then there's that snaky daughter of his who's always up to no good."

"Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"Right, Aizen did pick up another girl and is raising her as his daughter's twin, but she's the least of our worries as she only just made her debut into society," Shinji confirmed. He heard all about the Sun-sun and Layla business when they received insider information upon the girl's debut. "Truthfully, there is no telling. I don't know. The best thing we can do is putting Love ta check this out or else we'll never get outta this predicament."

"Yeah, and we've already gotten in trouble more than twice." Rose shook his head as he recalled all the times they managed to get in trouble with the investigations of the Three Families since they were assigned. "It'd be nice to stay out of trouble this time around. We've got better leads."

Shinji glanced over at Rose. "Maybe ya should start paying attention to my orders," he stated dully.

"I listen." Rose replied defensively.

"Not when I told ya not ta jump that fence ya didn't," Shinji argued.

"You told me to jump it."

Shinji shook his head, walking ahead, waving his hand lazily dismissing his partner's final comment. He was interested in getting something to eat since they've been out the entire morning with only coffee inside.

Shinji sighed, eyes closed when he bumped into someone hard, knocking them over. His eyes snapped open and he stared at the gypsy clad in orange and pink fabrics on the ground. She had slightly tanned skin, raven hair, and bright colored eyes. She had been carrying a basket full of apples.

She quickly pull herself up to a seat, picking her apples off the ground, she shot him a strange glance once she finished and scrambled to her feet, scurrying off.

"Sorry," Shinji muttered disdainfully.

"How strange," Rose said in response to the small incident. He had seen the woman a few minutes ago, before Rangiku and Hisana showed up. She was roaming around the plaza with a daring sashay that caught a lot of unnecessary attention, especially when she stepped on the fabric of her skirt and fell flat on her face. Shinji was busy being too angry to notice.

Shinji shrugged it off and continued on his way out. He pushed his hands in his jacket pockets to check how much money he had brought along with him. He stopped walking, his pockets were empty, and so he checked his other patting them lightly.

"My damn wallet is gone!" he stated, turning to Rose in mild outrage.

"You don't think…?" Rose queried, looking down the direction the gypsy ran in.

As Rose turned back to look at Shinji, his partner took off past him, whisking by and following the same path the gypsy had taken. "Damn straight I do!" he shouted back at Rose.

Rose furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his temples. "This is how we get in trouble, chief," Rose said, following Shinji at a slower pace. He could already picture the notice they would receive for causing an uproar at the Romani Plaza.

Rose had a feeling as though he were being watched. He stopped, turning around and looking around the area. The Northern Star Fountain had a flock of gypsies around, three women dancing whilst two men played their instruments for them. Seeing as there was nothing behind him, he entered the Roma caravan that was home to many gypsies. There were large tents with elaborate structures, all made by different fabrics that whisked by with the small gusts of wind.

Rose could tell by the strange looks on the faces of the gypsies that he wasn't welcomed in their territory, but as he looked onward there was no sign of Shinji, only small disasters along the way. There were women and men picking up their soiled fruit from the ground, mumbling angrily after they had been assaulted by that official. There was nothing they could do other than curse the blond to the next world.

Rose sighed when he heard familiar shouting. He looked up; Shinji had been apprehended by some daunting-looking men. They were large and had a good hold on the thin man. There were three women standing in front of the men, two standing defending the tanned-skin gypsy hiding behind them. Before Rose could approach them and stop them from going through with any sort of punishment, he noticed Hisana and Rangiku sneaking up behind the tanned woman, who let out a sudden yelp. Hisana had pinched her, retrieving the item she had stolen from Shinji. The woman turned around, alarmed by the assault.

"Hisana! Rangiku!" she cried.

Hisana moved past the other two women, holding out Shinji's small wallet in front of him. "Let him go," Hisana ordered. "Roxanne was at fault for taking his wallet."

"You should know better than to steal from an official, you could be so dumb Roxanne~" a thin green-haired girl stated, appearing behind Rangiku with a pout.

Roxanne glared at the shorter girl and stuck her tongue out at her.

Hisana waited for the men to let go of Shinji, but they weren't listening to her. "I said let him go," she repeated.

The large men complied and Shinji huffed after being shoved forward. He took his wallet from Hisana, shoving it into his pants' pocket. The men and the older women walked away, talking to one another in their native tongue.

Hisana let out a sigh.

Shinji turned around about to go search for Rose, when he saw his partner approaching him. He made a gesture at him. Shinji rolled his eyes and looked back at Hisana, thanking her before shooting a nasty glare at Roxanne.

Rose stared at the girl hiding behind Roxanne suspiciously. She seemed familiar as if he had seen her before, but instead shrugged it off and followed Shinji.

"Let's go, we have other things to do than play with _gypsies_," Shinji stated loudly.

Rose stopped and turned around, bowing to the women before following his partner.

Hisana smiled lightly before turning to Roxanne. "You're going to be in trouble when your guardian comes home," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm practically an adult," Roxanne boasted. "Why would I get in trouble?"

"Because you stole his pocket watch too," Hisana commented, pointing at the gold chain dangling from the small purse she had slung over her shoulder.

Roxanne smiled coyly.

"Roxanne~ your guardian is going to kill you when he finds out. You're messing with officials!" the green-haired girl said excitedly.

"Shush, Mashiro. At least I'm not involved with one!" Roxanne countered.

Mashiro frowned. "I'm not involved with anyone!" she protested, sticking her tongue out at Roxanne.

"Rangiku, we should go. It'll be hours before we can get them to stop," Hisana suggested, moving away.

Rangiku merely nodded and trotted after her friend whilst the other two women began an altercation that would have been better left inside the privacy of their homes and away from the public eye.

* * *

"Soifon, you should consider taking a seat, the day is still young," Orihime suggested, picking carnations from the plantations outside the Aizen home. She figured Layla would appreciate a few flowers in her room to brighten the dulling mood, but any sort of living thing never seemed to last more than a day. It was strange, but she was quick to disregard it.

Soifon shot a glance at Orihime and turned away to carry on with her senseless pacing. She felt like assaulting Layla and getting the truth out of her the hard way.

She balled her hands into fists.

"Where did you hear about the accident anyways?" asked the curious maid.

"I have eyes and ears everywhere."

Orihime smiled lightly, earning a glare from Soifon. "I heard a circus would be coming next week," she recalled. It might have been small talk from all the gypsies in town, but they were usually right. "Do you think our lady would like to attend?"

"Layla isn't interested in those kinds of outings," Soifon confirmed, knowing Layla's personal opinions over most things.

"Well, that's too bad," Orihime stood up. "I'll be paying a visit to her now."

"Tell her she has eleven hours to tell me or else," Soifon stated, rushing off towards the other end of the garden at top speed.

Orihime nodded, watching her. Soifon reacted quickly to certain things and the way she was acting at that moment probably meant the family had a visitor.

Orihime shrugged it off and headed back towards the manor, waving at their gardener and thanking him for allowing her to pick the flowers. She walked in through the back door and down a large hallway, greeting a few of the other workers in the home and bowing appropriately when Fallon and Sun-Sun were getting ready to leave, one of the newest guards followed after them as they walked out the main entrance.

The new guard, Di Roy, had been brought to the manor by Aizen and trained personally by Soifon. He was prone to follow close behind Soifon until she beat him up causing a ruckus in the garden, where the gardener, a burly man with a happy-go-lucky disposition, filed a complaint for the damage done. Since that day, things had stopped being so normal, and that morning Aizen assigned Di Roy as Sun-Sun's new guard, since there was an unwelcomed fiasco with her previous one that required severe punishment.

Orihime shuddered at the thought, but maintained the same sweet smile on her face.

"Have a nice day out." she cheered, waving curtly.

Fallon and Sun-Sun blatantly ignored her, a gesture she was used to, but their guard turned and smirked, showing a row of shark-like teeth.

Orihime laughed, glad that the new guard had some manners, though his teeth made her feel uneasy. Instead of worrying about it, she headed up the flight of stairs towards Layla's room to leave her with carnations to lighten her mood. She had been in a bad mood since she returned home. The fact that she hadn't left her room was proof enough. Her young brother tried to drag her out by force but she ended up getting into dispute that sent him packing.

She greeted another maid, who had just walked out of Sun-Sun's room with cleaning utensils at hand. She crossed that large hallway and turned left into a narrow passageway until another quick turn brought her onto a broader hall. Layla's room was at the end of the hall, the last room there and on the other side was Szayel's room. She approached the door, knocking against it lightly, waiting for Layla's response.

Silence answered her knock and she sighed. Layla wasn't answering and truthfully, Orihime had been allowed to walk inside without having to worry about her reaction since the woman never minded her intrusion. If she were in a worse mood, she'd tie a white ribbon to the door handle. Only her father and brothers would be so daring as to enter with her in such a state without a wink of fear. Fallon never went near Layla's room and neither did Sun-Sun, probably orders from her mother.

Whenever Orihime found herself getting bored, she found herself observing the schedules of the nobles she served.

"I'm coming in," she muttered, pushing the double doors open, entering the dark room. She turned towards the bed, noticing a bulk under the sheets and figured it was Layla. She shut the doors behind herself carefully.

The lady shifted uncomfortably in her bed.

Orihime crossed the length of her bedroom towards the windows, pulling them open to allow the sunlight fall across the bed and ground.

"Lunch is in an hour, Layla," she chimed.

"Go away."

Orihime shook her head and walked over to the small table to her right. There was a decorative vase sitting in the middle of it. She pulled out the dead flowers from it, setting them aside and began placing the carnations inside one by one. She fixed smaller details, by moving a few petals to make the flowers seem happier.

"The carnations just bloomed, they're beautiful." Orihime took a whiff of the adorning carnations and smiled at the sweet smell. "I've brought you some. I hear flowers can brighten the mood of a room."

"I don't like flowers," Layla replied, moving her body once more beneath the bedding.

"Of course you do, you're just in a bad mood," Orihime stated, walking over to the four-poster bed.

"Why would _I _be in a bad mood?" Layla asked, slightly sarcastic.

"Soifon asked me to tell you that you have eleven hours." Orihime began, changing the subject.

"Well, Soifon can keep waiting!" Layla stated, jolting to a seat. "I don't need to explain anything to her!"

Orihime frowned, taking a seat on Layla's bed. "Then why don't you tell me instead?" she suggested.

"Nope." Layla shook her head, lying down on the bed and rolling onto her other side, her back towards Orihime. "You'll only tell her."

Orihime laughed lightly. "You're not one to distrust me, my lady," she commented.

"I don't want to talk about it. We'll leave my near-death experience at that," Layla stated.

"Did you manage to get the fabrics you wanted for your new gown?" Orihime queried, changing the subject once more.

"No."

"Why? Wasn't there anything to your liking?"

"It was an excuse."

"Then, you'll have to settle with _that poor excuse for a gown_ the tailor prepared for you," she decided, placing her hands on her lap recalling the exact words Layla used to describe her dress.

"I don't plan on going to that gathering," Layla confirmed.

"Your father will be angry."

"So what?" Layla responded. "He's always angry. Besides, I don't want to go."

"If you don't, your brother will also refuse."

"My father has a wife and a daughter that enjoy those sort of social gatherings," Layla reminded her maid. "Having them attend is enough to boast his appearance."

"Why don't you wish to attend?" Orihime asked, worried.

"I don't like social gatherings like that," she confirmed. "It gets boring and I hate them. I want to go home."

Layla curled up and held onto her legs.

Orihime's gaze softened and she pulled the coverlet over Layla's shoulder, patting it down. "This is your home, my lady."

Layla closed her eyes and remained silent.

"I'll let you rest," Orihime said. "But, please come to lunch."

Layla nodded.

"I'll come to fetch you for lunch."

* * *

Lunch was approximately thirty minutes away, but the animosity within the manor was great, causing most of the cooks to feel uneasy.

Lilynette watched Ggio rush into the manor greeting her grandfather loudly. The old man disregarded his greeting with a huff, leaving his two guards with the younger boy. She took the initiative and ran out of her room after hearing a door slam open. She had an idea that the reasons for the antagonizing feel coming from her grandfather was that the word had already gotten to him. When rumors involved their family or the other two, they seemed to travel faster because of their guards and superior status. Her grandfather must have had one of his trailing behind Starrk as always.

Lilynette turned to her left, noticing the doors to her brother's room were opened wide and downstairs Ggio was arguing with the other two guards. She heard the voices clearly; Ggio was defending himself against the older men.

"Wake up!" her grandfather boomed.

"Why're you yelling? I wasn't even sleeping."

Lilynette approached the room slowly and stopped at the doorway. She watched Starrk take a seat on his bed with a yawn, leaning back against the headrest.

"You almost killed Aizen's daughter!" the old man shouted, outraged. Mostly because none of those occurrences would settle well with Aizen's family and an altercation may arise.

"I got out to help her. It is not like I left her there to die," Starrk replied passively.

"Then you did hit her?"

"No. Missed her by an inch or two by the looks of things," he answered.

"Did you give her your name?"

"No."

"Good." The old man nodded. "Regardless, if she remembered your face, we would be in trouble. As it is that Aizen is an audacious fool, trying to take over our company—"

"Then let him."

The old man looked furious by his grandson's cold response. Lilynette stepped inside.

"Starrk!" she called before their grandfather could spread his outrage.

Attention turned to her, as if her presence was unneeded. That bit had been confirmed by the sudden awkwardness. She blinked nervously. "Uhm, something—"

"Lilynette," Starrk called sternly. "Tell me later and go to your bedroom."

"But—"

"Lilynette," he pressed.

Lilynette took a step back, earning a glare from her grandfather. She nodded and stepped out of her room, heading back to her bedroom to listen to the rest of the conversation from her closet. With how loud their grandfather was talking, she would be able to hear from inside her closet and she could simply predict her brother's counters, which wouldn't be thought out.

She walked into her room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

Ggio Vega was not one for special errands, especially those that involved secrecy to the point that he would end up dressed as a common delivery boy. So, there he stood in tattered articles of clothing standing at the gate of the notorious Earl Aizen's London home, wearing a brown hat to match the pair of shorts and holding a basket full of white lilies addressed to the daughter of said man.

That was his punishment.

While the Luisenbarn clan had enough money to throw around, even enough to hire a common man or women to deliver the gift and message to the lady they had almost killed. He had been at fault for attacking Barragan Luisenbarn's guards, Avirama and Nirgge, but they crossed the line and he was set on killing them both. He waited for someone to allow him in, growing tired of shouting for assistance.

_I should have offered the job to someone else_.

He rolled his eyes, tapping his foot when he saw Soifon walk over to the gate with a sharp glare. He stared at her, though she wore all black he couldn't seem to recognize her as one of the bodyguards working with Aizen and figured she was a servant in the manor.

"Who are you and what do you want?" she ordered coldly.

_Why you…?_

Ggio narrowed his eyes, irritated by her tone of voice. "I came to deliver a gift to the earl's daughter," he stated, ignoring his exasperation.

"Which daughter?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny.

"The dark-haired one."

"She's out." Soifon turned away. "Leave your gift at the gate. I'm sure she'll find it there on her way back unless it gets stolen."

Ggio huffed, grabbing a better hold of the basket, took a few step back and jumped over the tall iron-wrought gate without much effort. Soifon turned around alert.

Ggio walked past her, smirking proudly. "Well, I'll take charge of leaving the gift in the manor so it reaches her hands in one piece."

Soifon grabbed a hold of him, stopping him abruptly. "You're trespassing. I'll have to remove you from this property." She jerked him back, but he stood his ground.

Ggio laughed, looking at her mockingly. "I'd like to see you try," he scoffed.

Soifon jerked his arm back once again, kicking the back of his feet to drop him. She pushed her foot against his back while holding onto his arm, pulling it back, hurting the male.

He grumbled angrily, holding onto his basket with his other hand having been able to save it during the whole process without spilling any flowers. He threw his basket up, breaking out of her hold, putting more strength into the arm she had in her grips, and jerked it forward along with her. As she fell, he took advantage, pushing her against the ground and pinning her. He reached his free arm upward in time to catch his gift basket.

That's where the fight broke out.

Soifon proved quite strong when she broke out of his hold and went straight to hand-to-hand combat, elbowing him in the face the first chance she got.

If it hadn't been for Orihime passing by Soifon might have murdered him. Her punches were nothing to take lightly, especially the force she put behind her elbow that cause him to bleed.

Ggio was still underestimating her, believing that apprehending her would end their fight, allowing him to continue his errand without any more problems. When Orihime trotted outside, she called the guards inside the home who were waiting for their master to meet them to stop the two fighters from continuing. By then, Ggio had to put his basket down, leaving it on the grassy area besides the entrance.

Both were pulled apart from one another instantly by Ikkaku and Di Roy.

Soifon broke out of her hold, shoving the blond away from her with much force that caused him to fall on the ground.

"Don't touch me."

She glared walking past the small gathering that had formed.

"I'm sorry, chief," the blond said, bothered by Soifon's actions as he got to his feet. Still, having some respect for the woman who trained him, he bowed as she made her way towards their quarters.

Ggio pulled away from the bald man with equal frustration, glaring at him.

Orihime walked over to the flower basket sitting on the grass. Before she could pick it up, Ggio grabbed it off the ground.

"I'm here to deliver this to the earl's daughter," he breathed.

_That damn woman managed to make me break a sweat._ He ran his arm over his brow, wiping small beads of sweat from them. _It was a mistake coming here. I should have ordered Charlotte to come in my steed…but having someone link him to the Luisenbarn clan would be an embarrassment. _

Orihime smiled. "Come right in," she said, leading the way to the entrance. "You can leave the gift at the entrance I'll call the lady."

The door opened as Orihime and Ggio walked up the steps to the porch and out stepped Aizen. He shot a glance at the short boy behind his maid and then turned towards Orihime.

"What is this?" Aizen queried, his eyes holding the same disregard as always.

"This young boy brought a gift to your daughter, my lord." Orihime bowed.

Aizen walked back into the house, Orihime and Ggio following a bit after, just enough to watch him enter the nearest salon.

"Sun-Sun, there's a gift for you at the door," Aizen stated loudly.

"A gift, for me?" Sun-Sun inquired, walking out of the salon before her father, holding a feathered fan over her mouth.

Ggio looked at Sun-Sun. "Not for you," he said. "The other woman."

"Fetch Layla," Aizen ordered, moving to let her pass.

Orihime walked up the grand staircase near the entrance and suddenly the only harmonious feeling in the room slipped away, leaving a nerve-racking animosity between everyone, mostly being face to face with the enemy.

Sun-Sun had a demeaning glare that she directed at him since she was asked to retrieve a gift that wasn't hers. Soon, another woman appeared, older yet still striking of nobility, so he figured she was Aizen's wife.

A few more minutes passed, more than the ones expected. His feet were tired wearing those nasty leather shoes he wasn't used to. Orihime appeared, pulling along behind her an auburn-haired woman with a coverlet wrapped around her nightgown tightly. She looked sickly, but Ggio remember her clearly.

When they joined the crowd, Layla sneezed.

Fallon rolled her eyes at her unkempt appearance and Sun-Sun sneered behind her fan.

"You have a gift," Aizen said slowly, showing his disapproval in his own subtle way. "Receive it and return to bed, Layla."

Layla nodded, sniffling.

Ggio pulled the basket up by the handle placing it in the direction of the latter. "My lord sends his deepest apologies for the incident two days ago. He hopes you accept this gift as well as his invitation to Mayor Laxton's engagement."

Layla arched an eyebrow, interested.

"I'll receive his gift and apology, but I must decline his invitation," she stated, taking the basket and handing it to Orihime, wrapping her arm back into her comforter.

"Who is your lord?" Aizen inquired.

"Earl of Kent, Barragan Luisenbarn's eldest grandson the Viscount L'Isle," Ggio confirmed.

Aizen smirked. "You heard the lady, she refused his invitation," he stated. "You may leave." He grabbed a hold of Layla, pulling her along down the hall, her feet squeaked against the glossy floors. "We need to have a chat, my _dearest_ _Layla._"

Ggio bowed and made his way out.


	3. Wallflowers

**Masquerade**

Chapter 3

-_**Wallflowers**_-

_Daring as the notion may be,_

_Six enemies should never meet._

Mayor Laxton was a proud man, married for twenty successful years with the prettiest woman on his block and had a beautiful daughter named Samantha, who was now proudly engaged to marry an eligible bachelor. The Baron Dumont was a promising youth—a charming, handsome man that loved his precious daughter from the moment they met during the year of her debut.

That clear afternoon, the family sat at their dinner table enjoying a delectable feast prepared in his daughter's honor. Mayor Laxton regarded how wonderful Samantha and his wife's, Agatha, brightening moods have been that entire week. Samantha spent most of her time talking eagerly about her engagement to Robert, whom she swore eternal love and fidelity, though her constant prattle started wearing thin on Agatha's nerves, but Laxton merely asked his woman to disregard it.

"Did you invite many to the party, papa?" Samantha asked.

"Many important people," Laxton confirmed. "I'm sure it'd be a success."

"You're invited the_ Three_ _Families_, haven't you?" Agatha asked, taking a sip from her glass of red wine.

Samantha looked alarmed and put her eating utensils back to their places beside her plate. She looked at her father with the slightest hint of concern. "What Three Families?"

"The _only _three famous families currently in London," Agatha stated dismissively, "you know which."

Samantha gasped dramatically. "You invited _them_?"

"You have to understand the amount of influence they have," her father explained reassuringly. "If they are present, this engagement party has the potential of being an international success. If dukes, earls, and viscounts attend, your marriage to our fair baron will surely make the papers."

"Your father has a point," his wife agreed. "But, it is frightening to have all three attend at the same time, especially with Earl Aizen." Agatha placed her wineglass down. "The marquis and earl do not seem t get along well with him."

"Bite your tongue woman! It is never good to speak of their affairs!" Laxton exclaimed.

His wife merely cringed at the gruff tone of voice and went on savoring the food.

Samantha gulped. "Is it safe?"

Agatha arched an eyebrow. "Is what safe?"

"Having all three families attending," Samantha clarified, fretting slightly. It was not fear that drove her to that state; she simply didn't want her engagement part to be ruined. She wanted to maintain the same level of bliss from that moment to the second she stepped onto the altar with her precious Robert.

"They're aristocrats," Laxton reminded them. "Surely they will understand how to control themselves."

* * *

"I thought I made myself clear! I do not wish to attend!"

Layla continued protesting, holding her ground against Orihime who was going out of her way to push her aboard the carriage driving up to Mayor Laxton's gala to honor the engagement between Baron Dumont and Samantha Laxton. Layla and Szayel were the last ones to leave the house, though the young master was still tending to some important businesses inside to help with his petulant sister. Aizen and his wife took an early leave, followed by their daughter Sun-Sun and her date. Aizen was still livid over the incident that occurred between Layla and the Viscount L'Isle.

The mere thought that Luisenbarn's eldest grandson had the audacity to ask her to attend the fete with him as her escort seemed to have angered her father the most.

"You know you have to go. I already went through the trouble of having you dressed!" Orihime stated, straining her voice.

"This dress is horrendous!" Layla spat, having nothing else to say.

She did hate that midnight blue gown in particular because it had more lace that necessary. The fact that it was irritating her skin over her chest, shoulders, and back was ignored by the demon maid that had her dressed.

"It fits you perfectly, you look wonderful," Orihime argued, surprised by the amount of strength the lady was able to gather.

Szayel approached the conflicting women, straightened out his black jacket, and tapped Orihime's shoulder. She turned quickly as the young master grinned malevolently. She quickly let go of Layla, to allow the young master to force her inside the carriage.

Before Layla could make her grand escape, Szayel had taken a hold of her, and shoved her back into the carriage causing her to fall against the bottom of it. He climbed inside as he pulled his hat off and closed the door. Layla had hit her head hard against the other side and groaned in pain, amusing her brother.

"You're insolent!" she cried, pulling herself onto a seat.

Szayel whistled loudly and the carriage began moving, knocking her off her seat. He chuckled, watching her hit the ground once more. "At this rate, you will enter the engagement party a complete, utter mess."

"Be quiet," Layla spat as she took her seat and smoothed out the creases of her satin gown.

"Why did you refuse the invitation of the Viscount L'Isle?"

"He is a Luisenbarn, not a gentleman even if he has a title," she stated, adamant.

"Did father say anything to you about this situation?"

"Of course he did," Layla responded. "And he's still angry to this date."

"It shows. He hasn't said a word to you since your infamous incident came to light," he remarked. "But I do suspect he may be attempting to remedy their actions in some other form. You can never tell with that _father _of ours, _yes_?"

"I don't care."

Layla leaned back and glanced out the window. The evening had grown dark and the drive would be a bit longer than expected, seeing as they lived a town away from where the Mayor's manor was. The distance between was the reason why Aizen, Fallon, and Sun-Sun left earlier. Her father had his own strange reasoning, saying being early always caused the others to get angry, while Fallon only followed his orders. She was left behind because the entire working class had to struggle to get her dressed. She threw a temper tantrum to show her reluctance to wanting to go to the party. She even attempted to jump out the window when Soifon slapped her across the face for taking things too far.

During the carriage drive, she and Szayel made small talk. She wasn't in the mood to speak and so she didn't. She avoided speaking at every possible instant. She replied to her brother's statements with senseless grunts that caused him to cast a strange glance her way.

When they arrived, Szayel stepped out of the carriage first and turned to offer his sister a hand. Layla refused, turning her head away and walking out on her own. He found her temperament humorous, so he did not take any offense.

Layla carried on, noticing an array of new faces amongst the guests of the party. Szayel walked beside her with a condescending smile on his face as they continued alongside the montage of carriages parked outside on the field with various coaches tending to their hungry horses. Layla kept her eyes fixed on the crowd of guests searching through the hordes of people for their guards, who would be attending in disguise. Though the families had been specifically asked to keep their conflicts outside the Laxton Manor their guards were discreetly sent as guests.

Someone bumped into Layla hard, causing her to push Szayel and grab onto him at the same time to assure she wouldn't kill herself on that nasty pair of heels. She turned around, eyebrows knitted in frustration to shout at whoever it was who shoved her, be it accidental or purposely.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the handsome aristocrat, Viscount L'Isle shutting a carriage door before looking back at that lady. Layla mentally stabbed herself at the thought of calling him handsome.

"Ah, it's only you," he said, yawning.

"What do you mean it's _only you,_ you oaf?" Layla demanded, her temper rising.

"Well, if it isn't you. Who are you?" he asked, smiling.

"That doesn't concern you," Layla turned away, grabbing a hold of Szayel's arm and stomping off with him in tow.

Starrk shrugged and walked behind the two.

Szayel laughed at her actions, finding them to be more childish for her personality type.

Layla huffed. She was aggravated with the thought that Viscount L'Isle was walking behind them, noisily grinding his teeth, nonetheless. She linked her arm with her brother's as they entered through the lavish foyer. They were greeted by a man at the front standing in front of a marble statue and looked around the entrance hall, recognizing the few familiar faces, which were their father's enemies.

Szayel led her towards the large hall where the party had been assembled under the expensive chandeliers that adorned it. In betwixt the other source of lights was the Laxton family treasure, an expensive, beautifully crafted, diamond chandelier that was passed down to them by their noble ancestors. Layla marveled at the expensive decorations, to the lovely lace that covered the long tables aligned against each wall, seating many important people as well as nobles. Beyond the dance area, was the main table where the Laxton's sat with proud faces. Their daughter Samantha was covered in expensive emeralds, gifts from her fiancé, and wore a lavish violet ensemble that complimented her curved figure. Besides her sat the Baron, her future husband who had smugly pushed his hair back, smiling wryly at a red-lipped coquette woman standing by one of the staircases that lead to the top floor where the orchestra was seated.

Layla's eyes continued to trail away from the hosts of the engagement party to come across Genryūsai Yamamoto, who was sitting at the foot of one of the long tables, speaking to his beautiful raven-haired granddaughter. Both of them seemed to be having a delightful conversation, and his granddaughter Retsu held onto the visible baby bump over the light green fabrics of her gown. She hadn't been aware of her pregnancy until that point and taking a glance around the other people seated near them it was still recent news.

"Mind if I borrow her?"

Layla looked around the area in search of her father, who would be seated on the other side to make his appearance discreet. She looked to her side, watching Szayel speak to the viscount giving him a curt nod before pulling his arm from her. Just when her irritation had diminished, it reignited as the viscount took her arm in his.

"What's wrong with you?" she demanded lowly. If she created a scene, members of her clan would notice and instantly relay the occurrences to her father.

She did not need any more trouble on her plate and would not sit through another one of her father's excruciatingly wordy lectures.

"Nothing, I just asked to borrow you," he responded. "Your company seemed more than happy to be getting rid of you."

At his remark, Layla turned back to face her smiling brother and mouthed an insult to him.

Szayel shrugged his shoulders mouthing a clear, _have fun, dear sister_ in return.

_How dare that condescending bastard, what is he planning?_ Layla thought, disdainfully.

Starrk tugged her along towards the other side of the hall, not paying much attention to her glares. She followed him, although she was involuntarily dragged and managed to trip on her own two feet; one of her lavish heels fell off her foot. Seeing as she was a smart enough woman to not want to create an unnecessary spectacle by falling flat on her face in front of more than one noble ring she held onto Starrk's arm for leverage.

Starrk looked her way, catching her gaze for a second; a wavering look in her eyes caught his interest.

She slipped her arm from his, harshly and hopped to her heel on one foot. She found herself tipping over as she tried to balance on her blue heel. Starrk grabbed a hold of both her arms, propping her up so she regained her composure. She slipped her foot inside and turned to him about to thank the man who helped her.

She bit her tongue, glaring at him instead, pulling her hands from his grasp.

The lights were dimmed and the orchestra began to play a ballroom tune, informing the guests that the dance would commence. Men had already gone to ask women to be their partners and gather at the center to begin the waltz.

"Wine?"

Layla caught sight of the waiter carrying a tray toppled with wineglasses with a bottle of merlot at the center. She nodded curtly, taking the first glass at arm's length and had a diminutive sip as the man journey down the rest of the table to continue offering wine.

It was bitter.

She returned her attention to the viscount, who had already been holding an empty glass of wine, waving it before his eyes to have the light cast a shine to its sparkly surface.

"Let us sit there," he decided, gesturing quickly before leading her onto the few unoccupied seats in the entire ballroom.

"Why?" she asked, suspicious of his suddenly courteous actions.

"Because I lied," he answered with a nod.

She arched a perplexed eyebrow. "You lied?"

He nodded once more, averting his gaze elsewhere as they reached their seats.

She stared at the back of his neatly brushed hair, bemused, but followed him without further questioning. He offered her the first chair, which she trusted had been a gentlemanly gesture rather than a bribe to whatever awaited them that long evening. He took the seat beside her.

Layla looked around the hall. From where they were seated, she was able to see around the entire hall. She caught the vicious gaze of Soifon, who was wearing a crimson gown whilst making small talk with Di Roy. Soifon made a small gesture to assure Layla she was being watched by them.

Layla gestured to Starrk, who wasn't paying attention to her actions. Soifon nodded, telling her blond companion something in the form of a whisper.

"My sister wants to know if you liked the flowers sent to you," Starrk said, looking at her through his peripheral.

Layla didn't look at him. "Why does your sister want to know?" she asked slowly.

Layla was busy observing her surroundings to pay any attention to the man, regardless how handsome he was. Aizen and Fallon were seated on the other side of the hall, talking. To Layla, they were really arguing, while Aizen showed no change in his expression, Fallon's brow was wrinkling slightly.

Sun-Sun was dancing in the midst of the other guest with a tall, dark-haired male she did not recognize. Layla turned to her left, noticing Barragan Luisenbarn standing by the table, looking in her direction speaking to an incredibly large man.

_Am I sitting on the enemy side?_ She thought, curious. _I had better not get in trouble because of this!_

"She decided on the gift," he admitted.

"And the invitation?"

"My grandfather."

Layla scoffed, though the idea of the head of the Luisenbarn asking his grandson to escort her to that gathering seemed preposterous. _Maybe, he's shy…still…it wouldn't make any sense seeing as he is also a Luisenbarn_, she contemplated. She took another sip of her wine, the liquor stinging slightly as she swallowed. It eased the tingle of her previously sore throat which had been caused by her brother who offered her a glass of ice water he claimed would help her cold disappear.

Starrk yawned again. Layla wondered how many times that had been. He hadn't finished his wine. She was already halfway through hers, since she was only taking sips from it. She turned back to the dance floor; another song had begun to play. A soothing melody that threatened to put her to sleep.

She slouched against the chair in a fairly unladylike gesture and let out a sigh. Her eyes caught her brother chatting with a sickly-looking man with deathly pale skin and behind them sat a younger boy in an elegant ensemble. The boy's dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. His eyes weren't looking at anything in particular, but since she began staring at him she noticed he had not blinked. His brow was furrowed and his lips upturned into a small frown. He had his hands on his sides, holding onto the chair as he moved his feet back and forth, bored.

Layla let out another awkward sigh, looking back at Starrk through the corner of her eyes. He was rubbing his eyes. Instead, she searched for Soifon in the hall. Her eyes trailed over the couple to the women expecting the company of a man, until she found Soifon. She was walking away from Ikkaku, both of them keeping their eyes over the guests dancing.

"My lord, your sister refuses to dance with me."

"Then ask Ggio to dance."

"Ggio told me to get lost!"

"Then hop to it."

"But, my lord—"

"Charlotte, go away I'm tired."

Layla turned to face Starrk, bemused by the effeminate voice addressing him when she came face to face with a burly man in an unsightly violet gown. The tanned man looked up at her with a sharp glare, causing her to gulp.

"Who is she?" Charlotte asked, regarding his lord.

Starrk glanced over at Layla whose once tranquil features were suffering gravely with the sight of his gender-confused guard. "This is my date," he decided with a curt nod before turning to Charlotte. "Isn't she a beauty?"

"I beg your pardon—"

Charlotte walked closer to Layla, grabbing a hold of her gloved hands, cutting her off. Layla stared at the man as he batted his long eyelashes, eyeing her properly. "Well, she is a beauty," Charlotte confirmed. "But she needs to work on that complexion, she looks sickly and—"

Layla's eyes narrowed, pulling her hands from the man. "—That's because I _am_ sick, twit."

Charlotte looked taken aback, even remotely insulted by her rudeness, that sheer impudence that slashed at anyone without remorse. Layla stood up abruptly as the larger man glared at her. Starrk sighed, disagreeing with the situation, but stood up, grabbing a hold of Layla. She snapped towards him and he dismissed Charlotte.

"Why isn't she quite the impudent beauty?" Charlotte commented with a huff. "You should beware of her type, they've got thorny dispositions."

Layla sneered. "You want to see prickly disposition you buffoon, I'll show you," she retorted, taking a brave step forward prepared to mop the floor with the cross dresser when Starrk wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her as far from his guard as possible.

"It would do your family well, if you do not cause a scandal in such a gathering," Starrk whispered before turning to his guard. "Charlotte, please tend to Lilynette and make sure she doesn't explore farther than she already has."

"Yes, my lord, but it'd do you some justice getting rid of her majesty." Charlotte turned his back to them both.

"You should reconsider wearing that dress! It makes you look fat and ugly!"

Charlotte had taken a step forward before he whirled around, his eyebrow twitching needing no more provocation to beat the woman to a bloody pulp and enjoy whatever punishment he'd receive. "How dare you? This dress brings out the color of my eyes!"

"Whoever told you that was lying," she spat.

"You're not entitled to—"

"Be quiet!" Starrk said loudly.

"My lord—"

"Charlotte, do as you were told and leave her out of this, now," Starrk ordered, turning to him slightly.

Charlotte reluctantly stomped off, his matching heels clicking with resentment. _That skinny bitch won't get away with this—_his mind was in chaos.

Starrk looked back at Layla, sighing. "Excuse him, he doesn't know any better."

"That man needs to—"

"He's got perfect hearing and a short fuse; you would do best not speak of him."

"He's a monster."

"You've got a sharp tongue."

Layla turned away from him. She was told that same line every day by her father, she did not need to hear it from the enemy. She turned her attention back to the dancing, taking in the sight of everyone enjoying themselves with something so simple. Starrk stood in silence besides her, staring dully at the congregation of people before his eyes. Layla wondered internally when Soifon would make the complete patrol of the entire hall before getting to her side and stealing her away. She was tired of the society. Everyone was narrow-minded with nothing but power on their minds. That part of nobility disgusted her.

Watching Soifon move around the room, glass in hand to seem as though she was merely mingling around the area, caused her resentment to dissipate. She noticed the awkwardness written all over her young guard's face as her small hands gathered the skirt of her dress, hitching it up slightly to make her walk faster. Szayel had asked Soifon to pull Layla of the gathering since he had grown tired of the party and wanted to go home. Ignoring her better judgment, she continued taking long strides, growing irritated by the pain her heels were causing.

Layla watched in horror as Baron Dumont crossed behind Soifon, his foot being caught in her dress's long tail, tearing the chic fabric as he proceeded walking on without a care. Soifon stumbled forward unwillingly and thought well of regaining her balance as she stumbled closer to the other side of the hall when Retsu appeared before her, her back was turned. About to straighten out, she felt someone grab her by the arm and whirled her into the air.

Soifon flipped effortlessly, landing in the clearing where the others had moved away astonished. Her eyes narrowed in a deathly glare as they stared into the wicked sneer of the brusque-looking man who had hurled her. Losing all sense of patience, she chucked her wineglass over her shoulder, bending down to rip the imposing half of her dress off and taking a readied stance to beat the man to a pulp.

The man laughed mockingly at the sight of the woman, but cracked his knuckles nonetheless.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" he queried as his smirk widened.

Something loud resonated through the hall, as the wineglass thrown by Soifon hit an unexpected target. Ggio Vega had been socializing with one of the workers, taken by the woman's simplistic beauty when glass hit him in the back of the head and smashed into bits. Eyes went wide in astonishment when only a small trail of blood trickled down his face and as he turned around his eyes set on Soifon, the evident perpetrator.

"You!" he snarled angrily, lunging himself towards her.

Layla took a step forward, prepared to do something when Starrk's hand shot up to stop her. She didn't fight against his grip because it was firm and for a second there was some reluctance. Though this wasn't the beginning of a great friendship, Layla could confirm that at first glance, it would become the start of the most disastrous relationship in the history of society's biggest misfortunes.

A scandal was on the verge of starting, taking up where Ggio left off. He headed straight for Soifon. His mind was focused on vengeance after the humiliation she had put him through, but before he could get any closer to her, he felt someone's foot hit his face with full force, knocking him off his trail and into the large table, landing on the backs of two nobles. The other guests vacated the table, women screaming bloody murder, more when Soifon attacked the larger man, knocking him off balance. The large man was quick to regain it while laughing maniacally, impressed by the short woman's attack.

"You've got quite a kick there woman, so I won't go easy on you," he boomed excitedly as he lunged himself towards her fists readied. He swung at her and she blocked, using both hands, cringing from the hit of that monster.

The battle unfolded before Layla and Starrk's eyes since they had the best seats in the entire hall and weren't necessarily scared of being hit by anything.

Ikkaku had taken the initiative to attack Ggio, while Soifon continued to wrestle with the larger man. Di Roy found his way towards them, not sure what to do, until he noticed Charlotte getting incredibly close to Ikkaku, planning to catch him off guard. Instead, Di Roy managed to catch the cross-dresser off guard, but found himself being attacked by a pretty-faced man.

The squabble was the reason why the engagement party was disturbed. The look on Samantha Laxton's face priceless, so much that Sun-Sun was unable to stifle her mocking laughter. The three leaders of the corresponding families to blame for such the uproar expressed their disdain, though Aizen's smile seemed condescending while Barragan bared his teeth disgusted by the display.

Finally, something interesting had occurred.

Layla sneezed.

"Bless you."

"Thank you."

Her eyes roamed the area as she grew bored of the fight, it had been a three whole minutes, yet no one had done anything to stop the squabble. Her eyes met with the young boy she had seen before, sitting on the other side of the hall, his dark eyes firm while not looking at anything in particular. He hadn't moved an inch, not bothered by the uproars of the guests. She wondered where his parent's were—_have they forgotten him._

"Somebody stop them!" Mayor Laxton demanded, unsure of what power he could use over the fighters. Some fear had stopped him from heading off the platform where he stood, his wife's arms wrapped around him defensively. Those people looked incredibly strong, unfazed by the terrifying hits they threw at one another, and he knew that although he had asked the Three Families to keep their guards at bay, they disobeyed.

"Stop this foolishness instantly! You're all a disgrace!" the commanding voice of Genryūsai Yamamoto reverberated through the hall, causing the perpetrators to stop.

Layla eyes flickering in amusement, watching the squabble end just as quickly as it had started.

Starrk's grip had loosened around her arm, eventually letting her go. Aizen had gone up to retrieve his three guards, grabbing a hold of Di Roy and tossing him behind him carelessly, maintaining an expressionless expression. Barragan beckoned his pair of fools while those under Yamamoto made their way towards the older gentleman without another word. The three were frustrated but used their composed masks to hide it, knowing that a punishment would befall each guard and it would be ruthless.

Someone tapped Layla's shoulder tentatively. She looked back to see Szayel grinning at her.

"Come, we're leaving," he stated, holding his arm out for her.

She didn't turn back; though something told her, she should and took her brother's arm. Szayel was quick to lead her towards the entrance where many people were exiting, aggravation drawn across their faces in disagreement of the powerful clan's disturbing outburst.

The two scurried outside the large hall, towards their carriage only to realize it was _gone_. Szayel and Layla looked at one another then turned their attention back to the vacant spot before their eyes where they knew their carriage had been left.

"This is ridiculous!" Layla cursed loudly. "This is beyond ridiculous. How the hell can a carriage get stolen?"

"You're overreacting, Layla."

"You're _underreacting_, Szayel."

"Don't say that, you're making a fool of yourself."

Layla turned to glare at him. Her mood was progressively growing with rancor.

"I know what we need," Szayel concluded.

"This better be relevant."

"It might as well be relevant, it's leaving my mouth," he stated, turning to look at her as he smiled cheekily.

"What is it?"

"We need to find you a hobby."

"I have half a mind to kill you right now," Layla confirmed.

"And, you'd have a right, but now is not the time, dear sister."

"Shut up," Layla stated, making her way past Szayel, bothered greatly by their predicament.

There was no way they could go inside and ask the Laxton's to help them since they were the cause of a third of the chaos. Surely, the man would recognize them and deny them anything they ask. Mayor Laxton was a fool.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"Home, you idiot," she insulted.

Thankfully, she sat throughout the whole gathering.


	4. Madness

**Masquerade**

Chapter 4

-_**Madness**_-

_Insanity plagues the mind_

_Insanity taints the heart_

_It is love that drowns the body,_

_But it will not save you._

A cacophony of noises blew swiftly over the slums of London. Cheerful laughter along with suspicious murmurs piqued the official's interest, allowing his mind to linger in bewilderment.

Hirako Shinji, well-known prodigy and chief of the Scotland Yard, walked through the decadent streets of London, far from his home—_bothered_. Concerning the current investigation at hand, no leads trapped Aizen, Luisenbarn, or Yamamoto. The fact that they were infinitely innocent—_for now—_bothered him to no end.

Today, he was dressed differently, wearing a well tailor suit, supplied to him by Rose to continue with his undercover work. Keeping a low profile in the core of the slums, portraying a man of class and infinite power to dissuade those he was trying to catch. He had asked Love to tend to the other shortcomings of their investigation. Hopefully, their limitations were lifted so they could end the chaos brewing. He had taken the young gypsy's words lightly at first, but somehow thinking them thoroughly…they started making sense.

Last night, their plans revolved around an engagement party that Shinji and Rose were denied entrance to. Apparently, Mayor Laxton wasn't comfortable with having the Scotland Yard in his gathering. Shinji tried to argue with him, saying that having a band of murders was allowed, while they couldn't even peek inside. Sure, he was categorizing his guests, but the Three Families were nothing more than a band of killers holding their own against each other. How many unsettling murders have been brought out into light that even they weren't able to resolve?

Unlike two months ago, the constant murders had stopped and they were in times of tranquility, except the ever-growing Black Market and the infinite supplies of weaponry, along with trades of women, and illegal substances started posing a problem.

Shinji sighed with much disdain as his eyes patrolled the large, decadent streets. There were mostly men in the area, tending to the most suspicious-looking shops he had ever come across. He felt a need to storm inside each one, but he kept some restraint seeing as he wasn't his duty now and it would be strange for any aristocrat to do that sort of thing.

"Mighty fine woman, around the age of eighteen, but could be younger."

The gruff voice of a man caught his interest.

Shinji turned his gaze to the side, there were two men chatting openly by an alleyway. He saw a stand beside them; it was an old woman selling jewelry. He crossed the street, pulling his top hat over his eyes slightly as he approached the vendor, engaging her in short conversation as he listened to the chatting of the two older men by the alleyway.

"I hear she's being auctioned off, starts at one thousand pounds."

"A thousand pounds!" the balding man complained. "How special can a street woman be?"

His companion smirked. "She quite the pretty virgin."

"Where'd they find her?"

"She's a street performer, a gypsy from the Roma clan. And she has a debt with my lord."

The two were smiling fools, Shinji could see from the corner of his eyes even though he was supposedly admiring the necklace in his hands. He was looking at the turquoise stones that made the necklace, but he needed a location and a name.

"What's the girl's name?"

"Roxanne."

Shinji's eye twitched at the sound of that name. She was the deviant thief that almost got away with stealing his wallet. He owed the Roma clan, letting one of their kind be auctioned off to the highest bidder would be a stain on the trust Hisana had put in the officers when she gave them their information.

He clenched his jaw, expectantly. He placed the turquoise necklace on the table. "Do you have amethyst stones?" Shinji asked, keeping his front.

The elderly woman nodded, smiling. "Please give me a second I'll have to go inside to retrieve them," she said, standing up to turn her back on him. "James, tend to the shop!"

A younger boy bolted out of the small house. He looked up at Shinji and grinned, watching as he stared at the two men chattering by the alleyway.

"They're annoying aint they?" James stated, catching Shinji's attention.

Shinji turned to the teenage boy, arching an eyebrow, bemused.

"Apparently, the pudgy one's got a shop nearby," he continued, leaning forward onto the table. "Both of them gather there every morning just before that bald one goes to work—lives off factory work somewhere out by the warehouses—but, they're into the darker deals."

Shinji placed the jewelry back in place and he turned to face the dark-haired boy, pressing both hands against the counter.

"Ya seem ta know quite a lot of details, don't ya?" he queried suspiciously.

"I tend the shop from time to time," the boy responded, gesturing unenthusiastically. "They just gather 'bout to talk over the dealings of the fat one's lord. Aint pretty jobs, I'll tell ya, been auctioning quite a few younglings to the highest bidder since this year started, quite a popular man—just got into power."

"How recent?"

"Well, you're a noble; shouldn't you know these kinda organizations?" James stated, taking a seat in the empty chair in front of the stand. "It's a bit hard to find a noble that hasn't got a clue."

"I'm not from around here," Shinji lied.

"Ah, well, that makes sense, you should have mentioned before," James said, grinning. "You see there's this man, he's recently become a viscount, of one of the smaller estates in the country, and he's got a lot of interest in meddling with _slave trading._ Usually, just takes whoever he can grab by making contracts."

"Do you know anything 'bout the Romani girl they planning to auction off?" Shinji asked, quickly.

The men were still speaking, but they had begun a disgusting conversation of what they were going to do the day of the auction.

"Ah, her." His tone was dark, in a way that told him he didn't wish to tell. "Roxanne and Rye—her brother—always come down to the slums to entertain, but a while ago she got involved with Horace Watson—things didn't go so well when she ran off with fourteen thousand pounds worth of jewelry. He caught her, around a week ago, told her he'd forgive her _sticky fingers_ if she agreed to pay 'im back all she owned. 'Course she couldn't cough up that much money from the little she makes as a street performer, so he had 'er kidnapped two days ago so he can auction her off this weekend."

"Ya seem to know a lot."

"Grandma said I needed a hobby. Thought meddling in other people's business wasn't so bad," he commented, grinning madly. "Apparently, hearing all the rumors keeps me occupied most of the time." James shrugged. "So, are you takin' part in that bidding?"

"No," Shinji replied. "I wouldn't wanna be another one in yer agenda; ya seem ta take note of everything."

James laughed. "Not everything, I jus' like ratting them out when they start getting on my nerves, such a shame not a lot of officers come by this area. Too much of a hassle to go down to central ta converse."

"James, are you bothering our customer?" his old grandmother demanded, walking out with a small box in her hands.

"Not at all, granny," James stated, whipping around to face her. "Just giving some info to the man."

"Get back inside."

Shinji pulled something from his long coat and threw it over the counter at James. "You've proven quite useful; you've got anything else ta say, find me, and tell me."

James picked up the paper from over the jewelry and looked at it, his face lighting up in amusement. He looked back to Shinji and nodded before hopping off the seat, bolting back inside his home.

"He can be quite a bothersome lad," the old woman commented, setting out the amethyst stone jewelry. "Anything you like?"

Shinji would have said no, if he hadn't been guilty of probing the woman's grandson. Buying something off the small shop was the least he could do. He picked up a silver ring with an oval amethyst stone. Nothing was pricey in the shop, considering it was a small stand. He handed the ring to her making his choice. He could give it away to someone who needed it. She gave him the price and he gave her the money. She smiled at him gratefully.

"You've got quite a smart grandson," he commented on his way back onto the street. Without waiting for a response, he continued walking…shooting a final glance towards the two talking men before going on his search.

The name Horace Watson was familiar, but in his state of mind, nothing appeared. The auction was still a long way, there was only time. He needed to find Rose, but even that proved to be a task.

Shinji let out a sigh.

Considering retirement wasn't such a bad thing at that point in time.

* * *

"Transfixed?"

"Yes, dear, our father ordered for the punishment for the guards to involve some form of transfixion," Szayel commented, crossing his right leg over the left.

Layla stared at him, repulsed by his words. "And?" she asked, her fingers touching the white keys of the piano.

Szayel interrupted another one of her private music sessions to indulge her in things her father would normally disagree with.

"Well, Fallon had one or two things to say that convinced him otherwise," Szayel replied, disappointed.

"So the damned witch finally said something useful…" Layla said slowly, removing her fingers from the piano and setting them on her lap.

"Actually, she wanted to avoid having to deal with another altercation between you and our father. Says they give her headaches and he can be quite the deviant when livid," Szayel corrected, grinning amused.

Layla glared angrily. "Nice to see I was taken into consideration," she replied, coughing.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"You don't want to try the new medicine I've been working on?"

"No."

"It'll make you feel better."

"I'm already better."

"You still look deathly pale."

That irked her, that comment definitely bothered her. It forced her to recall the engagement party at the Laxton Manor, where she had a run-in with a lunatic cross-dresser. She stared down at the piano keys, hiding the fact her eye was twitching with indignation.

"Honestly, it's called face powder," she managed, without sounding any bit angry. "Women all over the world use it to hide unsightly blemishes."

"I have something for blemishes as well."

Layla pulled herself out of her seat, grabbed a hold of Szayel's arm, and looked up at him. The sweetest smile was plastered on her face as she pulled him off her piano. "I'd appreciate some time alone," she said through clenched teeth. "Do me a favor and go bother someone who doesn't have a busy schedule."

He smiled wryly and pulled her hands away. He looked at her once, walking out the door before stopping once again.

"Ah, Duchess Rovina is hosting a tea party, don't forget you were invited," he commented.

Szayel wasn't expecting an answer. Layla grew accustomed to keeping her mouth shut, unless it was with Aizen—it was a reflex when it came to him.

She shut the music door behind him and made her way back to the grand piano.

_Blood, tears, agonizing screams—notions of that caliber made their way into the creation of that white piano. Along with the musically inclined hands that were forced to learn to play it masterfully. _

_Her fingers bled and ached. He was the worst instructor for the job, but he was known as the best. Teaching basic piano skills was good enough for a daughter of the earl, but he pushed her to be better._

She took a seat on the bench in front of it and put her fingers against the keys. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip in contemplation before pressing down on the keys. The music began slowly before picking up the pace—the only piece she knew by memory. For everything else, she required a music sheet.

She continued needing the same sense of direction from the start. Wishing and longing for anyone—_somebody—_to pull the blindfold from her eyes, so she could step forward. Then, she wouldn't have a reason to stay in place, waiting for the true reason why she was taken into such luxury. Why the blessing only felt like a curse…

Trying to smooth out the wrinkles in the map of her life, putting it in place…_somehow…_but she was trying her best. In the end, everything will develop. She will find a way back home. She would finally stop crying over spilled milk.

She felt something warm hit the back of her hand. She stopped playing abruptly, feeling the liquid land over her hand once more. She opened her eyes, blinking in disbelief. Taking a few seconds to contemplate her current standing with no type of sentimental inclination, yet there she sat, crying. Lukewarm tears trailed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and onto the keys. She let her head drop, setting her forehead lightly against the piano keys.

Attempting to stop the waterworks, she tried replacing bitter memories with the jolly ones. Since she arrived, they had been limited.

She remembered her place and looked up at the grandfather clock sitting in the corner, half past ten.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and laughed, feeling completely stupid.

_Stop thinking about your mother_, she contemplated.

A quiet knock against the doors caused her to jolt.

"Come in," she called, using the back of her sleeve to wipe her eyes. She looked up.

Orihime entered. "I've readied your clothes for the Duchess tea party," she said lightly.

"I wonder what kind of people she's invited," Layla muttered, getting out of her seat. She let out a curt sigh and made her way towards the door, walking past Orihime.

The maid closed the doors to the music room and followed her lady. "I heard she's invited quite a few ladies in the noble circle," Orihime commented, sharing the rumors she heard on the street while buying groceries.

"It's an all-women tea party, it's so like her," she answered, taking a turn towards the stairs.

To Layla's knowledge, Duchess Rovina was known for taking a quick liking to many women in nobility. She's loquacious, graceful, and married to the most sought out for Duke. Although youthful and inconsiderable vain, she was often the center of attention, which only brought a circle of negativity. She had a handful of enemies. Younger women who envied her marriage and hated her frivolity while attending social gatherings. The duchess continued believing not every woman was trying to be her friend for benefits or backstab her.

Layla wasn't as judgmental like other nobles, only analyzing the duchess' reasoning for being as she was. She found the older woman charming and matured in aspects other women would be too blind to realize.

Duchess Rovina was a lonely woman. It was frightening how well she managed to cope with it, often seeking the company of women and hosting tea parties to keep her mind off her faltering marriage.

"You look excited."

Layla stopped and turned around to face Orihime, expressing concern.

She laughed at her expression, finding it oddly humorous for a woman that was known to have a serious or cynical look on her face to look confused by a mere observation.

Layla couldn't grasp the reason why Orihime laughed wholeheartedly.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked, confused.

"I've never seen you so excited before," Orihime replied, trying to calm herself down.

"Excited?"

"You seem very fond of the Duchess of Cambridge."

Layla shut her mouth and curled her lips in a sincere smile. "I suppose, I might be."

* * *

Today was one of those unprecedented, yet convenient days where Layla was allowed to stride out of her home without Szayel following her—to his amusement—or had a bodyguard in tow. The thick, lavish taste of freedom lingered in the air and she openly took as many breaths as possible to drown in it. So much that eventually her coach believed she might have been hyperventilating and stopped the carriage.

After that minor inconvenience, the carriage halted in front of the luxurious private manor owned by Rovina Stephenson, the Duchess of Cambridge. She often flaunted that it was a gift from her wonderful husband—though the man wasn't close to meeting the level of her sincere comments. The manor itself was beautiful, built in the newest architectural trend with a large Spanish garden in the front.

Layla got out of her carriage, watching a pair of twins in matching blue monochrome dresses walk through the gates. They were greeted by the man standing watch outside. Layla stared down at the crimson dress she wore, in contrast to the rest of the guests; she'd most likely stand out with such a color.

She sighed, ignoring the idea and trotted towards the gates after dismissing her coach. She glanced over at the dark-haired male, who bowed. He was the duchess's butler and he obviously recognized her from the dozens of visits she made to meet Rovina.

No matter how many times she visited her private manor, it always amazed her. The beauty of the manor's garden and the art pieces inside the home itself, but dawdling over such things would inconvenience her.

She stepped into the manor, looking around the empty foyer. The distant clamor of gossiping women echoed through the halls and reached her ears. She sighed again, reluctant to follow the voices into the other room, finding it rude to enter without being escorted properly.

She looked back out the door, staring at the fountain sitting in the front with an elegant statue in the middle. The water spurted from the top of the angel's head, falling into the flower-shaped tub below. A long range of pine trees adorned the aisle leading towards the door; behind them were the wildflowers and the soft green grass.

The duchess was a lucky woman in a sense, but she would not sacrifice her freedom and love for material wealth. It made her feel guilt upon believing such a thing, but quickly decided those thoughts were useless to have…and best be kept to herself.

She heard heavy footsteps behind her and quickly turned around, her eyes staring directly at the top of the staircase where the Viscount L'Isle was trotting down. His grey coat was swung over his shoulder and hair tied back in a messy array. Layla stared, absolutely baffled by the view of having him walk down the staircase of Duchess Rovina's home looking like he owned half the world.

He looked up, piercing eyes meeting hers.

"Red suits you," he commented curtly, walking up to her and letting out a yawn.

She was taken aback for a short while before she pulled up her best frown.

"What is a Luisenbarn doing here?" she inquired, turning away.

"Call me Starrk."

"That's an interesting name…" she trailed off, looking back at him with narrowed eyes. He wasn't looking at her; instead, his eyes were fixed on something outside. She glanced over her shoulder and from afar, she could see a dashing dark violet dress and long cascading waves over exposed creamy shoulders. Narrowed eyes and a matching fan covering half of her face—it was Sun-Sun.

She sidestepped a few inches, hiding behind the door instantly, catching Starrk's attention once more. He arched an eyebrow with a hint of concern. "Is something wrong?"

Being seen in the presence of a Luisenbarn, while attending a tea party and having to find Sun-Sun walking in was possibly the worse kind of luck she could muster. She stepped back, hitting her back hard against a doorknob. She turned around and pulled open the coat closet. She walked inside of it, earning an odd glance from the older man and shut the door.

Hiding.

She would be forced to sitting in the closet until she knew Sun-Sun would leave the foyer. She heard the soft clank of high heels, two sets. It meant she was accompanied by a friend. Layla had an idea who it might have been and she let out a curt sigh. A small conversation arose between the two women and she heard the mention of her name.

"I heard your sister Layla would be here?" a cynical voice asked.

Sun-Sun scoffed. "Of course she would be here; she and the duchess are the best of friends," Sun-Sun replied slowly. "I bet it is purely convenience."

Her companion laughed. "All this time she seemed so innocent, but running around with the duchess is a different story."

Layla's eyes narrowed and she placed her hand on the knob. She wanted to storm out and shout at them, feeling the anger rising inside of her. But as she pushed open the door, nothing happened. Her eyes widened, surprised.

Someone cleared their throat loudly.

She tried again. The door didn't even budge. The sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears as the voice of Sun-Sun and company seemed distant. She pushed harder against the door. It didn't budge.

"You're quite interesting yourself." Starrk's voice was low.

"I never called you interesting; I called your name—"

"Same idea," he interrupted. "Hiding in a coat closet isn't ladylike."

"Blocking the closet door isn't very gentlemanly-like either."

"I'm not trying to be a gentleman."

Layla frowned angrily, balling her hands into fists. She kicked the door viciously, ignoring all sense of her noble heritage or the mannerisms she had molded into her since she was younger. As soon as the tip of her heeled foot made contact with the hard door, her toes were smashed together in unspeakable pain.

She yelped, flinging her hurt foot forward and allowing her matching red heel to fall off. She crouched down, whining inwardly at the awkward pain in her big toe and its neighbor.

_Stupid man,_ she thought maliciously. _I have half a mind of—_

The door clicked open and a string of light entered the dark cramped closet. She looked up instinctively and saw him, staring down at her with a smirk on his face. She reached for her heel on chugged it at him. He moved his head slightly; avoiding it and following its course until it hit the marble ground. She stood up defiantly and shoved past him, stomping towards her shoe.

"You're not originally from the noble circles, are you?" he asked, leaning against the wall.

Layla ignored him, pushing her foot back into her shoe. She disregarded his question with indignation.

_What does he care if I grew up with society or not?_

"Would you mind getting back in the closet?" he began, clearing his throat. "The atmosphere seems less aggressive without you giving everyone a death glare." His eyes caught sight of the vase of spider lilies, which were vibrant when he entered the manor in Lilynette's company, now they were slightly withering—welcoming death in the presence of the dark one. "Look, you're even making the flowers wilt."

Layla turned around with a nasty glare on her face. She was in every sense insulted and stepped towards him, walking quickly. She stopped in front of him with an angry look on her face and without noticing, her open hand hit the side of his face harshly.

"If I wish, I can make whatever bits of nature wilt!" she stated indignantly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd rather not pollute your air with my aggression."

She turned away and headed straight for the door. The clatter of her heels as the hit against the marble seemed to echo through the foyer and she picked up the pace, making her way out the door without turning back or feeling sorry for not attending.

Layla rushed through the garden, not bothering to look back at its beauty and walked right out the gates with a huff. She heard someone running behind her and she feared the worst.

"Sun-Sun," Starrk called.

Layla's eyebrow twitched at being called by her sister's name. She stopped and turned around, looking as expressionless as ever. Watching him stop in front of her, not even out of breath from the run and as soon as he stopped, she slapped him again.

He stared at her wide-eyed.

"It's Layla, you oaf!" she retorted, insulted. "If you're chasing after a woman at least know their name!"

She huffed indignantly, turning away before he stopped her. He pulled her back.

"You've got quite a good amount of force behind such delicate hands," he said, sighing. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him, still suspicious. "Let me go," she ordered passively.

Starrk immediately did and he watched her turn around to continue walking.

* * *

Today was in every sense the only day of freedom Layla would be allowed to savor without having to deal with a shadow trailing her to watch her every move in scrutiny. Unfortunately, being followed around the shopping district by a Luisenbarn, who was busy grinding his teeth wasn't any better than having a bodyguard. They didn't exchange words, simply walked in silence. She strode in front of him, trying to find ways to bore him or anything to give off the vibe that she didn't enjoy being followed. She kept her hands at her sides, feeling guilty for skipping out on the duchess' tea party, which she usually enjoyed. At the same time, there was another detail pestering her.

_What was a man doing in the duchess' home…walking down the stairs…with his coat in hand and yawning? _

_S_he trailed off indecisively when the idea hit her.

She stopped in the middle of the street, hearing him halt as well. She turned to face him resentfully, to keep up her fearsome heated disposition—kicking out all sense of hope for Starrk.

He blinked, bemused.

"You're having an affair with the duchess, aren't you?" she accused. "Have you no shame? She is a married woman."

He blinked again. "What?"

"Yes, what other excuse would you have for walking down the stairs looking like you just woke up?" she stated, walking closer to him.

"I was sleeping," he replied leisurely.

"Sleeping with Duchess Rovina," she corrected.

He sighed. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"Still, you're every inch suspicious, walking down the steps leisurely and you used that comment to avoid questioning because if you were having an affair—with an infamous duchess at that—you'd soil your family name," she blurted, unable to figure out where the deductions came from.

His lips curled into an amused smile and he strained to continue being serious in front of Layla, but in truth, she was too much. He let out a small chuckle at her strange assumptions, knowing that laughing at something as insignificant as that wouldn't earn him another slap.

She glared instead, viciously.

"Don't laugh, I'm being serious," she said, bothered by his outburst.

He stared at her with the same amusement in his eyes. "I was right; you were brought into the noble circle."

"I was born and raised in the noble circles," she stated seriously.

He took a step forward, leaning towards her slightly. "Really?" he queried, the smirk vanishing from his features. "I could have sworn to have seen you—"

"You deserved the first two slaps; consider retracting before you earn the third," she advised, giving him a warning look.

Starrk moved back, away from her. "While we're on talking terms, why don't I treat you for lunch?" he considered.

"I already ate," she muttered.

In truth, the war in her stomach hadn't stopped since she missed her chance of drinking tea and having deserts to accompany it. She wanted to abide by the rules set out for her family—getting too close to an enemy of one's clan would end tragically. Besides, getting close to Starrk wasn't something she wanted in the first place.

"Come on, there's this nice shop that sells good food," he said, walking up beside her and taking her hand. He tugged her forward as he began walking down the street hand in hand.

Layla protested. Though, as violently as she may have been, his grip didn't loosen. After he dragged her across the street, ignoring the strange looks they were both receiving from both sides of the street, Layla managed to pull her hand out of his.

"Excuse me, I never accepted such an invitation and never would!" she stated, walking away from him.

He reached for her once again, but didn't catch her arm. She learned not to keep her hands at her sides as she walked at that point.

Layla knew her way through the shopping district, recognizing the polished stores on each side as the ones she frequented came into view. She couldn't hear Starrk's footsteps trailing after her, which caused a sense of relief over her. The shopping district in the north was plagued with nobility, frequented by the enemy clans. If a Luisenbarn, a Yamamoto, or someone in her own family saw her being pulled around by Starrk—her father would surely murder her, not that she wouldn't be the talk of the neighborhood. She was an unmarried woman that had recently made her debut into society being dragged around by an equally unwed male with a title, looks, and vast fortune looking as though they were in the midst of an elopement gone awry.

Her father was going to murder her or disowner, whichever it was…she hoped it would not hurt.

She took a sharp turn into the nearest shortcut, listening to the pitter-patter of water from a nearby drain. Her heels clicking loudly against the ground to her discomfort while the ambience grew unreasonably cold and eerie. She took deep breaths as she picked up the pace, hearing footsteps behind her. They weren't lithe or leisure like Starrk's which instilled a sense of fear. She didn't recognize the footsteps and turning around would assure her apprehension.

A step forward and she was jogging down the narrow passageway to enter the busy market. She came to an abrupt halt, stopped viciously by a pair of strong arms and a hand that shot up over her mouth to silence her scream.

"Daughter of evil, have you fallen?" a dark, menacing voice whispered in her ear. "Have you…?"

She muffled a cry, closing her eyes tightly.

Fear.

It was the same as long ago—the past written out for her that she would never be able to erase.


	5. The Thief 1

**Masquerade**

Chapter 5

- _**The Thief 1**_ -

_All that's taken_

_Will be reclaimed_

_In something twisted_

_For __**them**__ to delve_

An overwhelming fear compelled her as she stood in the arms of her captor. Her body trembled in dread, heart thumping in her chest when a strange stench reached her nostrils. A heavy scent mixed in the cloth between the strong male's palm and her face. Her eyelids felt heavy and her breathing grew erratically. Her hands reached up to the arm around her neck, clawing at it as the air slipped from her lungs. A flood of memories filled her mind and her lids fell heavily over her eyes – losing consciousness.

"_Have you fallen, Layla?_" The dark voice reached her ears, settling in her mind as she tried to register it. Fear governed her world, casting aside all thoughts of reason from her mind before entering the veil of darkness.

"I wonder how you're going to explain this to grandpa," a light voice said, irritated.

"I'm not going to," a familiar voice stated.

Layla felt the softness of a silk coverlet over her body. A heat spread through her body as beads of sweat rolled down her body – she was running a fever. Her limbs were heavy and her eyes refused to open. She took a sharp breath, alerting the company around her, but she quieted down feeling someone pat her back. The reluctance she faced couldn't beat her weakness.

She gave up on opening her eyes, falling back into slumber without questioning her surroundings. The security filled all her senses.

* * *

**Hours Prior to the Incident**

**Duchess Rovina's Private Manor**

Lilynette strode out of the lush gardens of the duchess's private home, grumbling incoherently after the disputes she had faced. She watched that snobby bat, Sun-Sun make her way out the gate with her equally batty friend Apache walking besides her. Both of them made their disdain known for being in having her in their presence and as crude as they may have been Lilynette managed to keep her cool.

She stopped out of the gate, stopping to have a look around, searching for Starrk. He was nowhere in sight and her gaze met with the butler's at the front gate with a sharp quizzical glare. "Have you seen my brother?" she queried, walking up to him.

The butler had seen them walk in together, forgetting faces wasn't a trait he was known for. He nodded curtly. "The viscount left after a woman in red," he said.

"Do you know who it was?"

"I believe it was Lady Layla, Earl Aizen's daughter," he replied slowly.

Lilynette huffed in disbelief, turning away after thanking him. She took a few steps forward, hearing the trot of horses and the pull of the carriage.

"Lilynette, let's go."

Lilynette turned her head, watching Starrk climb out of their carriage. She walked towards him, looking at his clothes that were wrinkled more than before. What caught her attention the most were the faded crimson stains on his white shirt. She stopped in front of him. "What happened?" she asked, serious.

"Nothing," he responded curtly. "Get on."

He was about to climb inside the carriage, but her arm shot forward instinctively grabbing a hold of his vest. "Why can't you tell me?" she demanded lightly.

Starrk sighed, frustrated. "Just get on, I'll explain everything inside."

Lilynette frowned, letting him go. The fact that he decided to keep to himself most of the time bothered her the most, especially at that point in his life – where everything he did was scrutinized. He climbed inside, taking a seat before offering his hand to her.

She turned away, climbing in and shutting the door, taking a seat across from him. He knocked against the wall, signaling for the coach to take them back to their home.

Her eyes noticed something besides Starrk and immediately the vibrant reds of a woman's gown caught her off guard. Sitting beside him, slumping against the wall unconscious was Aizen's youngest daughter. Lilynette stood up abruptly, close to hitting her head and pointed at the pale woman. "What is she doing here?" she demanded.

"Calm down," Starrk suggested, regarding Layla for a second by pulling his jacket over her shoulder neatly.

"How can I calm down, you're going against all rules!" she stated loudly. "This is practically kidnapping! You abducted Aizen's daughter!"

Starrk sighed, looking as if he had a headache. Lilynette wasn't sure how to take their situation, but their family and hers would stir disdainfully. Her heart pounded erratically at the thought of it.

"I helped her out, that's all," he surmised, grabbing a hold of Lilynette and pushing her back lightly.

Lilynette complied, sitting in place. "Helped her?" she asked. "Why do you have blood on your shirt?"

"That's how I helped her."

"Be serious and explain." She glared at him, set on finding answers.

He shook his head, finding it troublesome to have to explain his reasoning. "She was getting kidnapped," he said, leaning forwards with both hands on his legs. "I followed her; I couldn't just stand there and watch it happen. Unfortunately, by the time I got to her, she'd been drugged."

"You didn't…"

Starrk shook his head. "The attacker gave me a piece of information though," he began.

"Was this before or after you beat him?" she interrupted, piecing everything together from such small details. The blood on his shirt was from the attacker since he didn't have a scratch on him. Relief spread through her senses, but at the same time irritation showed on her features.

"He admitted to have been sent to kidnap Layla," he said. "Apparently, there are others and they're after you as well…" He trailed off, leaning back against the seat. "Someone's trying to stir the three clan heads up."

"You think someone would do that?"

"It's only obvious, the fact that Luisenbarn, Aizen, and Yamamoto have so much control in the world would bother someone of lesser power," he commented. "Think about it, not even the monarch stand to oppose us."

Lilynette listened intently, it was a first hearing that type of insight, but she could fully comprehend the reasoning. "I don't understand," she admitted.

"For now, you don't have to worry about anything." He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

Lilynette frowned as she watched him yawn. "I want to know now."

"Not now, Lilynette."

She glanced over to Layla; worry crossed her features wondering how they could explain her presence in their manor. She knew he planned to keep her in their home, but for how long.

She sighed, defeated. Leaning against the seat, she looked out the window watching the scenery change.

* * *

**One Day Later - Night**

**Luisenbarn Vacationing Home**

Layla jolted to a seat, her body warm and sweating. Her hands fisted over the foreign silk coverlet, eyes staring out into complete darkness. The constricting corset was gone, the red dress was gone, and she placed her hands all over her body in disbelief. She moved back, the sleek fabric against her skin and she hit something hard. She turned back, feeling around – another person. Her heart beat erratically, her hands clamming up anxiously as she moved away from where she sat.

Lithe footsteps echoed through the hollow corridors – unfamiliar and distant. Layla's heart skipped a beat as she remembered what had happened, the drug that she inhaled without any choice, the strong sent dimming all five of her senses, and before she was aware of things – darkness. She pushed the heavy covers off herself, scrambling out of bed, her right foot tangling between the sheets causing her more trouble that necessary. Continuously she told herself to compose and rush out as soon as possible.

The unfamiliarity of the air weighing down on her, making her wonder why kind of sick person would kidnap –

The other person on the bed shifted and groaned inwardly.

She stopped trying to tug her leg free, standing there trying to balance herself. The creek of the floor gave her away instantly and her fall followed, causing a heavy thud against the ground. Layla breathed heavily, her hand shooting up to her forehead – she was hot and bead of sweat continued falling from her brow. She had just gotten over her previous infection; at that point, a new ailment was unacceptable.

She attempted to lift herself up once again, but her weight seemed to have increased by tons. Moving a finger was painful. She groaned painfully. Eyes shutting tightly as she heard someone approaching her.

"You shouldn't be moving in your condition," a familiar voice stated groggily.

Layla's eyes opened to a slit, a blurred image before her leaned forward grabbing a hold of her. She pushed her hands against the person, not recognizing him. "W-who…" Her voice was hoarse and breathing labored.

She was hoisted into the man's arms and rested in the bed once more. She struggled slightly, watching him work besides her, letting out a yawn. His hands dipped into the water basin next to her, squeezing the water out of the cloth.

The moist cloth met with her forehead. She blinked, trying to regain all five of her senses together. Her vision was a blur. Her mouth was dry. Her skin was moist with sweat. Her hearing was becoming impaired listening to the droplets of water drip onto the basin, the sound becoming distant with each drop. She couldn't breathe through her nose and the bitter cold of the air through her open-mouthed breathing chilled her insides.

Her heart thumped lightly in reassurance.

She was whisked away by sickness and thrown back into her own dreams.

A shuddered sigh fell from her lips and Starrk finally relaxed, pulling the coverlet back over her shivering form. He reached over her, grabbing a hold of one of the pillows there and moved away from the bedside.

He walked to the large couch sitting by the window, sprawling himself over it and placing the pillow behind his head. His eyes watched the small waves of the long drapes, allowing him a view of the moon. The crescent-shaped rock adorned the dark sky with the warmth of light. He closed his eyes, hearing Layla's erratic breathing even as she slept, but he wasn't a doctor. He couldn't do a thing, only hope she won't awaken.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before attempting to sleep.

**Morning**

"Wow Ulquiorra, you're as pale as death, you sure you're a doctor?" Lilynette asked playfully, leaning against one of the posts on the bed.

"Starrk, I thought you mentioned the child would be playing during my visit." The pale man with luminescent green eyes inquired, shooting a disapproving glace at Starrk. "I've also told you to get off the bed."

Starrk yawned in response, back pains plaguing his youth from his attempt to sleep on the couch. He glanced over at Lilynette. "Don't you have violin lessons?" he asked groggily.

Ulquiorra turned his attention back to the patient, ignoring the siblings who were on the brink of starting an argument.

"Don't you have things to do too?" She stuck her tongue out at him. "Maybe telling grandpa you brought Aizen's daughter home and have been keeping her as a pet." She continued with a sharp remark, unreachable to the ears of the two men.

"We're doing them a favor. They must probably think she's been captured by enemy—"

"Technically speaking, we are the enemy," Ulquiorra responded, interrupting Starrk before looking at him. "You are going against the laws constituted by our families."

Starrk frowned, shrugging. "It's troublesome to think of it like that."

Ulquiorra shut his eyes shortly. "To think, our grandfather plans to make you his heir," he said. "It'll be too late by the time he realizes he's made a grave mistake."

Starrk turned away.

"Starrk, you're going to have to start getting serious about things," Lilynette stated smartly. "No more afternoon naps for you."

A light rasp against the door disrupted their conversation, everyone quieted down to a whisper.

"Come in."

The door clicked open and Ggio entered the room. "The tailor arrived, he's waiting in the drawing room," he explained. "He's come to take your measurements, _again_."

"I'm going to ask for a new dress," Lilynette stated, stomping away from the bed and out the door.

"I'll be out in a bit," Starrk said, gesturing for him to leave.

Ggio bowed and exited the room.

"The woman will be fine," Ulquiorra stated, putting his utensils away. "Her brother is also a doctor. I advise you to return her." He gave him a blank stare as he stood up.

"Ulquiorra, warn everyone of what I explained to you."

"I will."

"I've already sent a letter to her home, explaining a few details," Starrk began. "There should be someone arriving from the earl's manor sometime today."

"I'll take my leave." Ulquiorra turned away and left the room quietly.

Starrk glanced over at Layla and then looked away, turning his attention to window.

Layla opened her eyes slowly, recalling the unfamiliarity of the room she inhabited. Her sight focused and she didn't recognize her surroundings until she turned her head. Starrk was lying beside her, face buried in a pillow, fully dressed, and even snoring lightly. She pieced things together quickly before questioning her surroundings further. The Luisenbarn had audaciously kidnapped her and she was thrown into the care of the eldest son. She inwardly gasped – ignoring her scandalous imagination.

She pulled her body up to a seat, finding it easier than the first time. She reached for Starrk, staring at him too intently as the strands of dark hair fell onto his face. She frowned in disdain and kicked him harshly. "Hey," she called defiantly. Even if she were abducted, it wouldn't mean she would be scared about it. She sighed, lying to herself. When it happened, she was terrified, reminded of the day she was taken.

Starrk merely shifted in his bed, unmoved by her kick. She nudged him with her hands, placing them on his arm as she shook him back and forth. "Starrk," she called sternly, shaking him violently until he made another noise.

His eyes opened to a slit, clear and blue, looking up at her in an attempt to focus. He smirked in response to her flustered face. "You're too loud," he said, burying his face in his pillow.

"Yes, Starrk, stay that way," she muttered menacingly. "Even after kidnapping me, you act so reckless."

She had reached for her pillow when he lifted his head up, catching her. He stared at her blankly. "I was trying to save you," he commented lightly.

She scoffed. "You?" she asked, almost derisively. "Why would you save me?"

"You haven't done anything wrong to be abducted by criminals," he said. "I was near you when you were about to get taken."

"How am I so sure you weren't the one who brought me here by force? You drugged me," she accused. Her mind always searched for a reason to hate that man as she was asked repeatedly by her father. She needed to hate the enemies of her father. Any mediocre reason would do. She simply needed one.

"You're not the only one they're after," he stated seriously. "My sister Lilynette was also a target of theirs. Someone's trying to start something with our families."

"You're kidding; nobody would attempt to go against us." She forced a laugh, finding it pretentious of whoever was trying to harm the families.

"I'll indulge you," he said, propping himself up on the pillows. "Have you any clue how much money each daughter in the three families is worth?"

Layla arched an eyebrow, confused. "Worth?" she managed. "What are you talking about?"

"Money," he responded. "You, your sisters, cousins, my relatives, and the women in the Yamamoto clan all have a price. Unlike the men, the women are treated as priceless gems because—"

Layla interrupted him with a gesture of the hand. It was too much information to process. "I'm worth money."

"You're worth approximately four hundred million pounds," he estimated. "Maybe more. Depends who's auctioning you off."

"What do you mean auction?" she asked, confused. "Why would anyone…?" She stopped herself before continuing.

"What do you think?" He made himself comfortable once again and rested his head against the pillow. He averted his gaze.

"Sorry I asked." Layla settled down beside him, leaning against the headboard. She scratched her head lightly, keeping her mouth shut. Her gaze met with his for a second and the disconcerting question in her mind fell gracelessly from her lips. "E-exactly how do you know this?" Her voice broke into a short stutter, her dry throat discomforting her.

"Its knowledge I'm entitled to know," he responded leisurely.

Layla turned away. "Why are you telling me?"

"Consider it a warning."

Layla opened her mouth to speak with bitter intent, but a light knock against the door interrupted her.

"Come in," Starrk said, face buried in a pillow.

The large door swung open quietly and Ggio walked in, clearing his throat. Layla shot him a nasty glare when she recognized him as the teenager who delivered Starrk's message weeks ago.

"My lord, the envoy from the earl's manor has just arrived," he informed clearly.

"Let them in," Starrk ordered.

Ggio stepped out of the room in reverse and gestured for the person beside him to enter. Layla watched expectantly, hoping Szayel wouldn't walk inside only to be relieved when she saw the warm face of her trusted servant – Orihime. The orange-haired girl crossed the room in quick strides, ignoring all scrutiny she received from Ggio. When she reached the canopy bed, she wrapped her arms around Layla.

"I was worried about you, my lady," she said quickly, removing her arms from Layla.

Layla smiled weakly, trying to think of something reasonable to say. Nothing came to mind.

Orihime's eyes landed on the man lying beside her and she gave her mistress a questionable look. Layla nudged him violently and he propped himself up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Did your employer receive our message well?" he asked.

"He'd like Layla home as soon as possible," she commented. She reached into a pocket in her dress, pulling out an envelope and placing it before Starrk. "I take it you're the one who sent the letter."

Starrk took the envelope wordlessly and broke the seal.

Layla grabbed a hold of Orihime's sleeve catching her attention and gesturing for her to get closer to her. Orihime leaned forward and Layla whispered in her ear. "Did you come alone?"

Orihime shook her head. "Di Roy accompanied me," she answered curtly.

Layla nodded, letting go of her sleeve.

Starrk let out a sigh and shifted uncomfortably on the bed, pulling himself to a seat. "Ggio, have someone prepare a bath," he ordered. "Later inform Lilynette I'll be going out and make sure she doesn't leave unguarded."

"Yes, my lord," Ggio said, bowing. The short dark-haired boy left the room, shutting the door behind him lightly.

Layla looked back to Starrk who had made himself comfortable beneath the sheets. "How improper!" she complained. "Sharing a bed with a woman is indecent, stop loafing around." She shoved him harshly.

He turned his head, giving her an odd look. "It's my bed."

She rolled her eyes, pushing the covers from her legs. "Orihime, let's get going." Layla swung her legs off the bed and placed them firmly against the ground. She looked up at her.

"The bath should be prepared by now, I'm sure your maid brought a change of clothes for you," Starrk said.

Layla turned to him. "What?"

"I'm offering you a bath, you've been stuck in bed picking up enemy germs," he commented. "I'm sure your skin would itch sooner or later."

Layla grumbled in response and he smirked. "I'll take up your offer, simply because I smell like your nasty bed sheets."

"The bathroom's down the hall to the left."

Orihime helped her as she made her way out of the room. The quiet setting of the Luisenbarn home accentuated the mysteries around the family itself. There were no signs of the old leader, just the peaceful melody playing in the distance. The small thump of footsteps across the floorboards and there was a lingering scent of roses. The silence within their home contrasted with hers.

Orihime hummed lightly, finding the ambience pleasant and the company of her mistress better. Layla kept her arms wound around the white robe she wore, wondering who had changed her when she was unconscious. The entire home seemed to be teaming with men. The idea of anyone of them changing her clothing caused her cheeks to redden slightly.

"I heard Yamamoto's granddaughter was almost kidnapped yesterday," Orihime commented. "It was so scary because I thought you would have been captured…and…"

"Starrk explained to me about that type of danger earlier," Layla said, walking closely to her maid. "I was afraid as well."

"Did you—?"

Layla already knew what she was trying to say and interrupted her. "I did."

They reached the bathroom in silence, finding it prepared. Orihime tested the water beforehand, making sure the temperature was lukewarm. "You've been running fevers again," she said, considering it. She stepped out the door. "The water is good; you should get in while I grab your change of clothing."

Layla nodded, the door shutting quietly behind her. She undid the robe and slipped it off. She dipped her hand in the water, feeling a chill run up her spine. The water was warm enough. She quickly got inside the tub, feeling intrusive regardless of the invitation. Warmth welcomed and she drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them securely. She was holding herself together.

She heard a light rasp against the door. She didn't speak.

"Layla." She recognized his voice immediately. "You should think about distancing yourself from Duchess Rovina for a while."

"Who are you to pick my acquaintances?" she asked defensively.

"You're known to spend time with her often, in fact, the day of her tea party you were followed in." A light thud against the door followed, he leaned close to hear through the thick wooden door.

"There was no one behind me."

"Do you remember our conversation?"

"Possibly," she remarked, reluctant.

"I questioned your nobility," he said.

_"You're not originally from the noble circles, are you?" He asked, leaning against the wall. _

_Layla ignored him, pushing her foot back into her shoe. She disregarded his question. What does he care if I grew up with society or not? She wondered indignantly._

_He cleared his throat. "Would you mind getting back in the closet?" He began. "The atmosphere seems much less aggressive without you giving everyone a death glare." His eyes caught sight of the vase of spider lilies, which were vibrant when he entered the manor with Lilynette, now they were flopped over slightly – welcoming death in the presence of the dark one. "Look, you're even making the flowers wilt."_

She splashed the water slightly. "What about it?" she asked slowly.

"I asked you to get in the closet for a reason."

"Your insensitivity wasn't necessary."

He sighed heavily. "You're going to be under serious surveillance from now, get used to it."

"After this I don't think I'm going to be aloud out of the house," she muttered lowly.

Silence fell upon them.

* * *

**Aizen Manor, Afternoon**

She entered her home once again and her family members waited patiently in the drawing room by the entrance. Immediately, Fallon rushed to her, enveloping her in a tight embrace as she muttered a slur of incoherent words – simply to keep up with appearances. Sun-Sun also hugged Layla, to her discomfort, but her eyes were quick to direct her full attention to the Luisenbarn standing beside her.

Orihime excused herself to continue working where she had left off.

Aizen welcomed Layla warmly, but the truth behind such mocking words resonated clearly through her ears. She managed to decipher his message and soon excused herself from their presence.

Layla crossed the room, heading towards the long hallway, but she was pulled inside the drawing room. Her eyes met with her brothers and she was quick to protest. He placed his hand on her forehead. "Such a shame, you're not dying yet," he commented. "I was hoping to dissect something this weekend."

"Bastard."

Layla's attention was caught by the curt exchange of words between her father and Starrk, before the two excused themselves to his private study. Fallon and Sun-Sun left standing in front of the entrance wondering what kind of conversation they would have.

"If you're interested, I know a room where we would be able to listen to the entire conversation," Szayel commented lightly.

"Offer it to your mother and sister."

"She's not my mother, sister," he said lightly. "She's merely a pawn."

Layla shrugged her shoulders. "I'm exhausted; I'm going to sleep in my bedroom."

Szayel chuckled darkly. "You're no fun Layla."

Layla walked out of the room and headed up the staircase.

**Night**

The frustration of being insomniac and having a high fever in the middle of the night shot through Layla as she twisted beneath her sheets. She opened her eyes and growled. She kicked off her blankets and swung her feet off the bed. The creek of the floorboards continued in the hallway, followed by soft whispers. The night, albeit silent, carried on with whispers carried by the calm wind. She continued hearing small cracks, shifts in the area surrounding her.

Layla jumped off her bed, landing with a quiet thud against the rug beneath her feet. She took a wobbly step forward, stumbling slightly on her numb feet. She made her way slowly to the drapes, admiring the glow of the moonlight as it seeped through. She stopped in front of the large window, pulling apart the drapes to step inside and letting them go behind her. The moon shone brightly, casting some illumination and dispersing the shadows lining out the hollows of her home. She heard quiet rasping against the walls.

She placed her hands against the windowpanes, finding the cold relieving against her hot skin. She took a deep breath feeling something strange creep over her, a numbing sensation starting from her feet and trailing over her skin slowly.

A high-pitched scream resonated through the manor halls and her heart skipped a beat. Heavy thuds against the ground followed and as frightening as it sounded, she rushed towards her bedroom door. Her hand latched around the handle, trembling as she turned it and pulled. The creaking sound of her bedroom door sounded lightly in contrast to the sounds on the first floor.

A long whistle followed by a deep voice. "Stay inside, Layla."

At the sound of her name, she looked up, confused. Her eyes met with a darker pair, smoldering and narrowed devilishly. She let go of the handle, taking a step back, her heartbeat accelerating with surprise. The door shut quietly and she stood there, frozen.

Sun-Sun had been the one who screamed. She explained in full detail the nature of her assault and described the pearl necklace and the diamonds with precision. If it hadn't been for a passerby lingering in the street at that time of night and the commotion that started within the manor, they wouldn't have received any sort of help from the police.

Fallon stood behind her husband, made-up to perfection like Aizen. A strange pair they made combined. Layla wondered if during the attack they were already getting dressed, knowing everything would happen according to a plan only they were allowed to see.

Layla was sitting at the staircase because she managed to admit having seen one of the people who entered the manor. She regretted speaking.

The workers were all standing by the drawing room entrance, being questioned by a tall man with dark hair. The bodyguards were hiding beneath the house, having no relation with the incident, except Soifon, who had gone after the attackers wordlessly.

Szayel was also nowhere in sight and when asked if Aizen had any sons present by the chief of police, he dismissed it. He explained one son had died in war, while the other no longer lived in London.

Sun-Sun was still talking to the aristocratic-looking blond, who simply took in the information, nodding after each description. He seemed bored and somewhat annoyed, while keeping an eye on the chief.

Layla tapped her foot lightly, placing both hands against her cheeks. The warmth in her face remained, but the affects of the fever had gone away.

The chief called another man for Aizen to speak for, a stern-looking man with short hair, who complied with his orders with a curt grumble. The blond haired chief turned away from Aizen and Fallon, muttering an insult. He lifted his gaze, meeting with Layla's who kept her eyes on her surroundings, and made his way towards her.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked leisurely.

"Feel free," she replied, propping her arms on her knees.

The chief took a seat beside her on the staircase. "Yer the one who got assaulted a few days ago too, aren't ya?" he asked carelessly.

"What does that have to do with today's occurrences?" She glanced at him, watching his grin widen in amusement.

He leaned back slightly, his blond hair falling off his shoulder. "There could be a possible connection," he replied seriously. "Whether you want to speak of it or not, yer gonna have to."

"I won't be of any help," she responded sincerely, keeping her eyes averted.

"Just tell me everything in detail from what occurred when you were assaulted to what happened today," he said, keeping his eyes on her.

Layla sighed in discomfort, putting strands of loose hair behind her ears. "I was attending Duchess Rovina's tea party, but left early after an altercation with a male guest—"

"Who was it?" he interrupted.

"Viscount De L'Isle," she responded.

She remained silent for a few seconds, waiting to see if he spoke before continuing.

"He followed me, invited me to dinner, but I refused," she recalled. "I took the liberty of taking a shortcut through the shopping district when I began hearing footsteps trailing after me. I knew it wasn't the viscount because of the heavy footsteps and the thick arms that trapped me…after I don't recall much of anything. I was drugged."

"And today's occurrences?" he asked, intrigued.

"I had a fever and couldn't sleep," she stated. "I heard footsteps and whispers but passed them off as figments of my imagination. I didn't attempt to leave the room until after hearing Sun-Sun scream and the running in the halls. I opened my bedroom door and a man asked me to go back inside. He said my name." She paused shortly. "The hallway was dark, I can't give any descriptions." She coughed lightly, gluing her eyes to the ground.

"Hmm."

"I'll be taking my leave now, chief." Layla stood up, glancing over at the man, who remained seated.

"Shinji Hirako," he said, pulling a card from his vest pocket and placing in front of her. "If ya need anything, just go there."

Layla took it. "Excuse me," she said lightly. She turned around and headed up the staircase, wrinkly up the card in her fist.

She stepped onto the second floor, but didn't head back into her room as planned. She crouched down against the wall, looking down at the first floor through the railing in front of her. She watched as the cook talked to the man interrogating them, turned her attention to the shorthaired man speaking with her father and stepmother. Sun-Sun stopped looking serious about her accusations; instead, she had a flirty aura around her while she spoke with the man before her.

She sighed, turning her attention towards the chief. He pulled himself from the staircase, making his way back to Aizen. "We'll be keeping your home under surveillance starting tomorrow morning," Shinji informed. "Considering the time, we'll jus' return to search the manor tomorrow as well." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously when looking at Aizen. "That'd give ya enough time to keep all the skeletons in the closet."

Layla smiled, amused by his straightforwardness.

Her father chuckled in response. "We'll surely try," he responded coolly.

"Love, Kensei, Rose, let's go," Shinji ordered as he stepped out of their home.

The three officers were ushered out by that single command and Aizen did the honor of shutting the door behind them. Layla stood up at that point, having nothing to see any longer, and turned right into the hallway.

A strange hunch told her that from that point onwards the ordinary aspects of her life would diminish and become nothing more than a rampant ride down a perilous road. She had finally begun her own journey.

Sincerely, Layla was terrified.

* * *

**x L i l i m:**

First things first: Happy Valentine's Day, or Happy Single-Awareness Day.

I don't celebrate this holiday, but I used to get loads of chocolate as gifts. :3

Anyhow, this chapter contains the beginning of some mystery that in some way will spill a bit of Layla's secrets, plus romance. Oh, you gotta love the romance. Shinji's playing his part now...and he will for the while. Hmm, what else. There should be three parts after this, with a lot of information and with different point of views to get the story straight. They'll all tie together somehow. I'm still working on that. :3 Whaa~ Starrk saved the day! Good for him! And, who talked to Layla when they were getting robbed? In due time, in due time. :)

What else can I say? Hmmm, hmm. I've got nothing. Thanks for reading. :3


	6. The Thief 2

**Masquerade**

Chapter 6

- _**The Thief 2 **_-

When Layla woke up two mornings after the incident, she found herself standing alone in the hallways of her large manor. She walked back and forth through every hall looking for some sign of life except that of the house workers. When she heard nothing but the whistling of the wind welcome her, she decided to inspect certain rooms. Her father's office was empty, her brother's room was empty, and her sister and stepmother's rooms were empty. She was alone.

Was this a joke? She wondered, rushing down the narrow hall towards the main staircase. She didn't even find the time to dress herself for the day and wandered into the main hall wearing her nightgown. She looked over the railing full of curiosity, peering into half of the drawing room to the side, half-expecting to see Sun-Sun sitting there with Fallon drinking their matutinal tea, but it was empty.

She headed down the staircase and walked towards the kitchen. Someone ought to know where everyone had gone without informing her. It's not as if her family was prone to wake up one morning, plan a vacation, and go on it without giving her the details.

Entering through the doorway, she was greeted by the friendly atmosphere and the smell of breakfast. She leaned against the doorframe. "Where's everyone?"

An older woman turned to face her; she wiped her hands on her white apron and approached her. "Didn't you hear? The earl and the rest of the family went to Oxford to visit his sickly brother," she explained with a smile.

"Why wasn't I told?" she asked, bothered. She would have enjoyed some time shopping in Oxford, away from the Luisenbarn and the kidnapping, the thieves, and possibly every irritable experience she could think of.

"Your father didn't want to upset your health any further and decided it was best for you to stay behind." She smiled kindly. "I'll make sure to take care of you well."

She wasn't feeling under the weather and she didn't have any existing health problems since she was a child. She was perfectly healthy and able, but they were being jerks. She supposed they were under the impression four was better than five were.

Layla blinked. "What happened to Orihime?"

"She was asked to accompany them, along with a few others, and most of the able bodyguards," she recalled, listing out the names for her mistress.

Layla watched in distress, they deserted her after all.

After the old woman finished giving her the finer details, Layla returned to her room to get dressed. She was aided by another maid, who decided to dress her in crimson. Even though she tried to convince her otherwise, to give her more pastels, but the young woman refused, saying dark, somber colors suited her best. But in the end, her temporary maid won the battle and dressed her in a classy gown with a long tail and a high collar made of sheer fabric. Had dressing been up to her, she may have chosen to stay in her nightgown and move freely without constricting corsets and annoying bustles.

She thought about faking illness in order to stay home and do nothing all day, but the idea caused her to lose interest quickly.

Instead, she went through her daily routine, but only managed to get past breakfast before an old friend came to visit.

Duchess Rovina walked into the drawing room where Layla was slouching over the couch drinking tea. Startled by the redhead's sudden appearance, she almost spit out her drink, but quickly composed herself.

"Duchess Rovina, it's an honor to have you visit," she said, standing up and formally curtsying.

Rovina fanned herself with her hand, brushing aside her friend's formalities. "I heard your family had gone out to Oxford, so I thought I could serve as an amusing distraction for a friend in need." She smiled wickedly.

"News certainly spreads quickly, doesn't it?"

The redhead, wearing a blue riding habit, took a seat besides her and offered a playful smile. "Or maybe I had been waiting to spend some time with my dear friend." She placed her hand over Layla's and laughed quietly.

"Would you like some tea?"

"Heavens no," she said scantily. "We'll be going out shopping; I heard there were new dresses shipped from France."

With her interest piqued, Layla agreed, rushing off to retrieve her matching hat.

A sheer veil fell over half of her face covering her from the strong rays of the sun as they left the manor.

The duchess's coach dropped them off at the entrance of the market and they began exploring every store they had knowledge of. Layla was an avid admirer of French fashion, having lived in France for five years of her adolescence, and was always ready to welcome new dresses and fabrics from the country.

Layla sighed, finding their outing a nice distraction to circumvent thoughts of being abandoned by her family. Rovina was indeed a gem among women, compassionate, mature, yet flirty and outgoing.

They had stopped to admire a pair of shoes that had caught their fancy and eventually entered the store, looking through various pairs.

"Of all the women I've ever met, I must admit to liking you best, Layla," Rovina said, startling her with the sudden change of subject.

Layla glanced away from the shoes she had handed to the clerk to box for her and looked at her companion's friendly gaze. "I'm honored for you to say that, though I don't think I'm very deserving of such praise, duchess."

"And, I've asked you many a times to call me by my name," she countered with a lively nudge.

Layla laughed, almost nervously under the duchess's praise. "Forgive the formality, Rovina."

She smiled and patted Layla's shoulder, turning towards the clerk and asking him to box a few pairs of shoes for her.

"You're the only one who has not once spoken of my affairs to others, a trustworthy friend, commendable of the highest praise I can offer."

She blushed and turned her face slightly, feeling embarrassed suddenly. She stepped away from the duchess and began trailing around another part of the store, not far from her friend. "Every woman is entitled to secrecy, regardless of rank," she sincerely replied. "You are no exception to that notion."

"I'm sure among us the one with more to hide would be you, wouldn't it?"

Layla lifted her gaze, meeting Rovina's careful eyes. "I suppose so."

"Being a member of the almost-royal families of the world, of course," she said playfully. "How is it that three men could rise to power so suddenly?"

Layla shrugged her shoulders. "I've wondered plenty of times before. But the disclosure of such information only goes to the heirs of the clan."

"It must be tough living in secrecy."

"One gets used to the closure after a while."

"What about the animosity?"

"There are ways to circumvent ire and envy."

"How amusing." Rovina smiled sweetly. She signaled for her butler to grab a hold of their boxes and carry them before they moved to another store. "I've actually had the pleasure of meeting the Luisenbarn siblings as well."

Layla unconsciously sneered at the sound of their family name.

The duchess laughed as she led her out of the shop. "Well, I wouldn't think you would be on unfriendly terms with the Luisenbarn siblings, had I known, I would have thought twice about sending an invitation to my tea party to the youngest." She linked arms with Layla, leading her down the street and smiling coyly at men giving the two interested glances.

"Forgive me for not going to your party," she said, forgetting all about the Luisenbarn.

"That's fine, dearest; I understand your reason now."

"Oh no, I'm only on bad terms with the viscount, I haven't formally met his sister," Layla said quickly.

Rovina looked at her. "She's a doll, always keeping her brother on check," she said demurely. "He's a handsome one, wouldn't you agree?"

Layla's face flushed, thinking about it twice before shaking her head in disagreement. "Regrettably, he's not in my tastes."

"And who is, my dear?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't know, but when I do, I'll make sure to send you an invitation to the wedding." She smiled confidently.

"Oh my, you truly are prideful in your skill," she said with a light chuckle.

"Not necessarily, but when the time comes, I'll try my best."

"I wish I could have the same enthusiasm as you do to fix my marriage." Rovina's eyes were downcast and she looked away, regretful of commenting aloud.

Layla's eyes furrowed worriedly. "You're doing your best, if he can't appreciate your effort—"

"Don't worry about me, everything will be fine soon."

She shut her mouth and nodded in agreement to Rovina's words.

The clothing store sat a block away from the shoe store they entered, but they had enjoyed plenty of pit stops along the way, buying more things for Rovina's personal butler to carry back to the carriage. Once they entered the store, they became too engrossed in the new imports to have a conversation that didn't involve the detailing on the dresses and accessories lying around. The two had entered a world that contrasted their usual conservative natures, and chimed in excitement to their finds.

"Ah, Lilynette, Starrk, I never thought I would run into you two here."

Layla pretended she hadn't heard her greet him. The two had gone off to different sides for a second and Starrk had shown up. Just her luck to run into him in the middle of her shopping splurge. She glanced up and jolted when she noticed he was standing right besides her.

"You certainly have no class, showing up without even a greeting."

He frowned, arching an eyebrow. "And you're too stubborn to listen to instruction."

"Who gave you the right to choose who I can spend my time with?" she asked forcefully but kept her voice down.

Starrk rubbed the back of his neck. "It's for your own damn good."

"I don't care." She moved away from him, grabbing more accessories, and shot an exasperated look at Rovina, pleading for help. Unfortunately, Rovina was too busy chatting with his sister.

He leaned close to her when she stopped to look at a few bright colored outfits. "You're being followed," he whispered lightly.

She shuddered as she felt his warm breath brush against her exposed skin. "I don't care."

She brushed past him, handing the stuff in her hands to the clerk, which consisted of ribbons and other embroidery, asking him to box it for her.

She turned to Starrk, who was fiddling with a strip of black ribbon on the counter. "How long are you planning to follow me around this shop?"

He merely shrugged. "I've been bored; your company eases the feeling."

She scoffed. "Or makes it worse?"

"The worst you can do is annoy me." He looked at her seriously.

"I promise you, I can do a lot worse than pester you."

He smirked in response while she rolled her eyes in disdain. Sometimes, she wished she was invisible, that day was one of them, considering there were plenty of gossipers among the guests in the store that knew them particularly well, who would just love to spread the rumor. The spawn of enemy clans meeting in secrecy and maintaining a clandestine affair, the outcome of such a tragedy was exactly what the public expected, but the chances of them falling in love or engaging in a surreptitious love affair was practically delusion. Layla laughed at the idea. How absurd people were to fathom such a notion, even though the animosity between them was as clear as day.

On the other side of the crowded shop, Rovina was enjoying the spectator's muttering discreetly among themselves about the two. Lilynette seemed unfazed by the passing rumors, even though some were spoken so close to them that they were clearly heard. Though, Rovina did notice a sudden twitch in the young girl's eyes, proving her disapproval of her brother's actions.

"Quite a commodity, aren't they?" Rovina asked curiously.

Lilynette shrugged. "He's an idiot, always acting all weird around her," she told her. "Since he's met her, he's been disregarding all the rules."

Rovina opened her mouth in shock, watching them prattle about on the other side, arguing lowly so to keep a decent amount of privacy. "Maybe he's interested in a woman like her."

She let out a disgruntled sigh. "I was under the impression he wasn't interest in women."

Rovina laughed. "How rude of you to say such a thing."

"This is news to me." With the sudden feeling of ire, Lilynette walked away towards another set of ribbons.

Layla once again stopped and whipped around to face him. He held his arms up in a weak attempt to stop her from yelling at him. "Would you stop following me around?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he did, a strip of gossip reached their ears, piquing their curiosity.

"That heckler Watson's planning to auction off a pair of gypsies from the Romani clan this weekend."

Layla felt her eyes widen against her will, even though she tried to keep her cool, the idea seeped through her nerves and the worry followed suit. Unbeknownst to her, Starrk was quick to notice the change in her demeanor as she walked past him hurriedly. She offered the duchess a curt excuse and headed out of the store after Rovina assured her she would take all her things to her home.

With that assertion, Layla rushed out of the shop, her heart beating in her head.

* * *

**Romani Plaza**

Shinji and Rose had taken a short detour to the colorful plaza to meet with old acquaintances, the young gypsies who had kindly offered their share of information. They were having a busy morning trying to find the lost jewelry from the Aizen manor, but had difficulties finding a lead even after interrogating everyone in their home. The only one who could have supplied a good enough lead was Layla, but she claimed she didn't see anything through the veil of darkness. Of course, Shinji didn't believe her. In fact, he strongly disagreed with her alibi. She could have been the prime mastermind; the idea of an inner conflict between the families wasn't implausible. But, after the thought had crossed him mind while speaking to Hisana, she told him suspecting the innocent would lead to some sort of messy entanglement. Which went back to the reason why he hated fortunetellers, they were nothing but liars.

Hisana called him out on that last thought as well, making him think she was a mind reader rather than a fortuneteller.

"We can't suspect the innocent and the chief has no decency," Rose reflected aloud.

Shinji huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're looking for a jewelry thief, not readings on how indecent I am."

Rangiku laughed openly at his honesty. "He doesn't even try to deny it."

"Shaddup!"

"You're looking in all the wrong places, Patience can lead you to the truth of the matter," Hisana said, exasperated.

Shinji glared at her.

He heard a pair of footsteps approaching them, heels clanking loudly against cemented ground and the laborious breathing that accompanied the tired woman. The officers turned around, surprised to see Layla Aizen standing a few feet behind them, trying to catch her breath.

Shinji arched an eyebrow and moved closer to her.

"Fancy meeting you here," he greeted.

Layla looked up at him, seemingly surprised as well, and he smiled down at her. "Yes, it is, chief."

"So, what brings an important noble like yerself all the way over here?"

"I was sightseeing with a friend and w-well," she paused, catching her breath, "I'm still not used to being in London after all." She gave him a sheepish smile, but even so, he suspected something was up.

"Would you like us to escort you back to your companion?"

She swallowed hard. "No, its fine, I'm capable of finding my way back."

Shinji turned to Rose and signaled for him to follow him out.

Layla felt relieved to have escaped that situation without a thorough interrogation. She breathed a few more times, composing herself before her eyes met with the young gypsy girls standing in front of her. Hisana and Rangiku – the only thoughts going through her mind were simple, "_they have grown_." She swallowed the lump in her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but the raven-haired girl bolted away as if she was being chased down.

"Hisana!" shouted Rangiku, taking a firm step back to try to follow, but she turned back to face Layla.

Her eyes were clouded in worry. "Who's missing?" she asked, getting straight to the point.

Rangiku furrowed her eyebrows in reluctance. "Roxanne and Rye have been missing for a while now…"

Her heart could have jumped out her chest, but she imposed all the manners she had learned and kept her equanimity before the strawberry-haired girl. She curtseyed and nodded her head.

"Thank you," she said, turning away and leaving, dejection showing in her new demeanor.

"Are you going to help them?" asked Rangiku loudly.

Layla stopped for a short while, contemplating a response. What could she do?

She couldn't answer and ended up walking away.

As she walked past the small array of trees surrounding the plaza she could see the blond-haired chief of police leaning against one of the trunks, his arms crossed over his chest. Their eyes met for a mere second, before she felt someone jerk her back. She turned her attention to her left and saw Starrk.

"Act normal and walk, you can fuss about it later," he said with a pleasant smile on his face.

Starrk pulled her down a different direction and she forced a smile to play off their small act. If it looked like a kidnapping, the man wouldn't just stand there and watch.

"Please don't touch me."

* * *

**x L i l i m:**

Was that too short? O.O I wonder.

Hello. Long time no see! Yeah, it's been a while since I last update, but I finally got some stable motivation to continue! So...the next chapters should be WAY better than this. And although, the romancing is taking it's sweet-ass time to develop...we'll get there! I swear.

In any case, thanks for the reviews, alerts, favorites, I appreciate them all equally!

Now, I have nothing to say, so I'll talk to you all next time~


	7. Illusionary Trails

**Masquerade**

Chapter 7

- _**Illusionary Trails **_-

The ice inside the clear glass shifted with a chime, clacking against the other end. Though it was particularly odd that she even heard that sound above the rancorous clamor around her and the awkward stares being thrown her way – she slouched because she was angry, she frowned because she was in bad company; they had no reason to judge her actions. Even if it was common nature for them to watch two members of enemy clans sitting across one another outside a small shopping area with curiosity, it was beyond annoying. They had better things to do than start rumors, but that's what all those high-society members did best.

"I finished the drink you invited me to, am I allowed to leave now?" she asked, her eyes flickering upward to meet with Starrk.

He was leaning against the table with his right arm propped up and palm up holding his head. He blinked. "Hmm?"

Layla glared. "Wasn't this the deal?"

"I don't remember," he replied passively.

She bolted out of her seat. "Excuse me, I'll be returning home."

"I'll walk you." He got out of his seat as well.

"I appreciate the notion, but I must decline," she replied, looking at him. "I'm capable of making it back home without an escort."

"It's dangerous for a lady to walk around the streets without company," he said. "But, if you would rather get kidnapped and auctioned off like a street rat, be my—"

She slapped him again, this time feeling less remorse after she had done it than all the other times.

"Ow, that one hurt," he complained, looking back at her.

Layla felt no need to explain herself and ran as fast as her legs could carry – further away from him. She felt her chest clench and her eyes submerge in tears as she ran down the cluttered streets. He just so happened to have stumbled on the touchiest subject she had faced, similar to the day he questioned her nobility. What did he care? Who was he to consider them street rats? She had mixed personal feelings with what he had said unconsciously because deep down inside her worry for Roxanne and Rye was very high.

Once she arrived home, she had forgotten about her outing with the duchess and was very surprised to see the redhead woman waiting for her arrival inside. Rovina had dropped off all of her things and mentioned that the butler had taken all the boxes to her bedroom.

Layla tried her best to hide her flustered face as she sat down besides the charming woman to hold another conversation before she took her leave. Rovina had a playful smile on her lips, aching to bombard the auburn-haired lady with a series of inquiries concerning her relationship with the Luisenbarn, but held her tongue until the appropriate moment.

When it came, she did not hesitate.

"You've quite a relationship with Starrk, Layla."

She incidentally blew bubbles over the red tea she was taking a sip from and removed the cup from her lips with a cough. "Relationship is asking too much of what others would enjoy."

Rovina giggled. "Of course the public enjoys. People such as yourself, unique as you are will always bring much pleasure to being watched," she explained placing her tea cup on the short table. "Strong families like yours and his are not meant to be compatible, but by the looks of things in the market, something is definitely clicking."

"Clicking?" she asked perplexed. "Forgive me duchess there is nothing sensible to my arguments with that Luisenbarn. Mistaking it for some sort of lover's quarrel is but a figment of the public's imagination." She set her tea aside as well and placed her hands over her legs.

"I understand, but that man seems quite taken by you."

"Everyone has hidden agendas, duchess," Layla replied scornfully at the thought. "I do doubt he is an exception."

"But that man is not known for his deception, darling." Rovina fanned herself with a coy smile. "I'm sure you may have already been exposed to a bit of his charm."

She scoffed. "No charm, duchess," she answered. "Not once have I felt anything other than animosity towards him and would rather keep it that way."

"Now, now," the redhead said lightly with a kind gesture. "Your being much too hasty with your decisions, you never know what may happen in the near future."

"There will be no further involvement in the future, the Luisenbarn are in England on vacation."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, too hasty my dear," she said. "Have you not heard that the Luisenbarn clan – at least His Highness and three grandchildren – are planning to stay much longer than they had planned previously?"

Layla was taken aback. From what Szayel had relayed, they would only be spending two months in England before returning to Spain. The Yamamoto clan was also returning to Japan soon since all business were concluding within the next few months. Her family was the only one of the three stationed in England permanently after they moved from Germany.

"No, I was not aware, how do you know?" Layla asked curiously.

"My husband struck a deal with Lord Barragan and it seems because of it, their departure will take longer than expected."

Layla frowned slightly, but was glad she was the only one in the house to know about that secret deal. If her father was around and he knew about it – she shuddered at the thought of the consequences.

"I see," she whispered.

"Now, if you won't find me too imposing to ask this of you," Rovina began as she took a final sip of her warm tea. "Would you mind playing some piano for me?"

"Piano?" Layla arched an eyebrow. "I'm not very good, Rovina, you know that…"

"Whether you are good or not, the last piece you played for me has been ringing in my ears for days," she stated, getting out of her seat and walking out of the drawing room. "I would appreciate you playing it for me once more."

Layla hastily followed after the woman. "Wait, I'll lead the way!"

Rovina stopped halfway up the staircase and waited for a flabbergasted Layla to catch up before letting her lead the way to her piano room.

In their household, she was the only one capable of playing a musical instrument because the teachings had been imposed on her the moment she was taken in by the earl. Practice was difficult since she was prone to distractions, but her instructor was as strict as they came. If she pressed the wrong key even once she was asked to continue playing until she got an entire piece right or else she would have to put everything on repeat. It was awful, but necessary for a lady to have one talent to showcase.

Treating women as objects in high society was common, but when life had been so carefree though she envied all the girls in frill gowns with porcelain skin – she loved the freedom of her own culture and the love of her mother.

They entered the piano room and Layla gestured for Rovina to take a seat in one of the many available couches aligning the walls. The redhead made herself comfortable complimenting the splendor as Layla took a seat in the bench in front of her piano.

She pressed a few ivory keys one by one before glancing over at Rovina, who smiled brightly with anticipation. Without further adieu, she began playing the melody her friend mentioned by memory for she had forgotten where she left her music sheets.

Since her memory wasn't the greatest, she only managed to play a snippet of the graceful tune before coming to an abrupt stop unable to remember the rest.

"Forgive me duchess, my memory doesn't serve me right," she said with a nervous smile. "That's all I could manage."

Rovina stood from her seat and clapped. "If my ears don't fail me, I'd have to say your composition is much better than I remembered."

Layla blushed. "I appreciate the compliment, Rovina."

"Not a problem, darling." She walked to her side. "I could only wish I played as well as you. The piano seems like an extraordinary hobby for people such as us."

"Us?" Layla was confounded by her words. "I'm sorry; I don't seem to understand what you mean."

The older woman placed a hand on her shoulder. "Those haunted by solitude, Layla," she said quietly. "You can deny it, but I can see for myself. People like us should spend as much time together, wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose you're right." She smiled slightly as she looked up to her.

"Well it is late; I should be heading out now."

Layla stood up ready to walk her to the door, but the redhead stopped her. "You should consider resting, you seem a little pale."

"I'm fine."

"No, no, go rest up, I wouldn't want you to get sick."

"I just got better, I'm fine."

"Then you need more rest," the woman protested.

"Fine, I'll make sure to rest then," Layla said in defeat.

"Good." Rovina nodded curtly in affirmation and walked out the door.

"Ah, Rovina!" Layla called after her.

She poked her head back into the room. "Yes?"

"I know it's strange of me to ask, but have you any clue where the Watson Auctions take place?" she asked quickly.

"Watson Auctions?" Rovina seemed genuinely surprised. "If I remembered correctly, they take place near the Black Market, but a lady such as yourself shouldn't go alone! There are all sorts of men present there, anything can happen – why do you want to know about that heckler's auction anyway?"

"I'll explain in full some other time, but for now, I'd rather keep this information to myself."

Rovina nodded slowly.

"Well, rest up Layla."

"Be safe duchess."

Rovina shut the door after herself and her retreating steps resonated through the hall until they vanished with the distance.

Layla plopped back down on her stool, letting out a dejected sigh.

"What am I going to do now?" she whispered, wrinkling the fabric of her dress with her grip.

She had three days to contemplate her course of action, but after Rovina's warning she wasn't too sure she could simply disguise herself for some sort of intervention. When Rangiku told her it had been Roxanne and Rye – though they could have been missing for other various reasons, her heart nearly jumped out of her chest in fright. Without proof, she knew it had to be them.

It pained her to know she could do anything because she was in danger as well, but to make it up to them – all the mistakes she made along the way, she wanted to repay them. She thought about disguising herself and trying her best to be the highest bidder for them, but the anxiety and fear mixed in. Underground auctions were known to be dangerous and privy to other unlawful things. It was frightening.

She needed to do something, but she couldn't think of anyone to accompany her to the black market…except— _I can't slump so low as to ask that Luisenbarn for a favor with this much extreme!_ But there were no guards in her household, only older servants who need more defending than she did.

With a defeated sigh, she made her decision. She would have to ask Starrk and if he said no to her…she was willing to go on her own.

* * *

**Aizen Manor – Early Morning**

There was a light scrape against her door and if she had not stirred awake from a nightmare earlier she wouldn't have heard it. She shifted beneath the crème coverlet and yawned.

"Come in."

The door opened quietly and numerous amounts of footsteps entered her room. She sat up in her bed alert, thinking there was some sort of intrusion or danger outside. When her eyes met with the servants standing in front of her holding bouquets of flowers in their arms, they widened as large as saucers.

"We had these delivered for you just now, my lady." The older woman smiled behind the colorful bouquet in her hands.

She arched an eyebrow. "Who sent these?"

"The lord is down—"

Layla bolted out of bed, nearly falling flat on her face and rushed out of the room to look for that _lord_. Only suitors send gifts and she was sure whoever sent all those bouquets was not one of hers. In fact, only Sun-Sun was allowed to have suitors considering she was the eldest sister. Until she married off, she would have to wait patiently. As if she ever even wanted to be married…

A few of the maids shouted after her, telling her it was improper of her to show up with her nightgown on, but she ignored them.

She ran down the stairs but saw no one until she stepped into the drawing room and saw the brown-haired aristocrat sitting in one of the couches with his gray jacket draped over the armrest. He held a brewing cup of what smelled like coffee in his hand before he noticed Layla's presence and turned to face her with light blue eyes.

Her cheeks flushed red from embarrassment. She wasn't expecting him per se, but he was there bearing witness to her unkempt appearance.

"Good morning."

She shook her head and entered, ignoring the sudden breeze against the thin fabric. "Who do you think you are sending flowers and inviting yourself in?"

"Starrk."

"What?"

"You asked who I think I am, I replied."

"I know who you are!"

"That's good to know," he said while taking a sip of his coffee. "By the way, this coffee is really good, do you know what kind of coffee beans they use."

She scoffed. "No," she stated. "What do you want?"

Starrk shrugged his shoulders. "I felt compassionate after hurting your feelings yesterday and I came to apologize."

"So you brought flowers."

"A dozen bouquets of different arrangements," he replied straightly.

"I don't like flowers."

"You're lying."

"You don't know that!" she retorted.

"Why else would you be blushing?" His eyes flicked towards her secretly, in time to see her cheeks turn a darker shade of red.

"T-that's a misconception on your behalf!"

He let out a low chuckle and continued drinking the coffee.

"If you're here for to apologize, hurry it up and leave."

"Saying sorry won't please you, that I know," he began. "I'm a little stuck, how could one gain your forgiveness?"

"Ah." She nervously faltered and immediately after got an idea. "If you want me to forgive you, you must accompany me somewhere."

He placed the cup on the table and turned his full attention to her. "Where?"

"The black market, two days from today for the Watson auction."

He groaned, bothered by it and shifted in his seat. "I'll take you anywhere but there."

"No, you have to take me there."

"Attending that auction is dangerous, for both of us."

"We'll use disguises," she suggested, slightly hopeful.

He arched an eyebrow. "Disguises?"

She nodded and took a seat next to him. "Like masks, you know, like you wear in a masquerade."

He sighed. "You're asking too much, ask for something else," he suggested. "Anything but getting involved in the black market. I'll buy you anything; take you anywhere, except there."

Layla frowned. "I want France."

He stared at her. "France?"

"France."

He stood up. "I'll see what I can do," he said as he walked past her.

She reached out to grab him and stopped him. "Don't take that seriously! I want to go to the Watson Auction and that's that."

"You're not giving up are you?" he asked.

"Not until you agree."

He turned to her. "We'll go, but we'll have to wear disguises."

"Good. Then we'll meet here on Saturday morning."

She dropped his arm and waited for a response, instead he yawned. "Yeah, yeah. Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Starrk excused himself and left the manor, but even after knowing he would accompany her, she felt uneasy. He didn't seem to want to do it as she expected. She wondered just how dangerous the area was for him to not want to attend, but even if the thought bothered her she got what she wanted. She would be very close to setting them free. That's all that mattered.

She smiled widely to herself and rushed back to her bedroom to hopefully fall asleep a bit longer. Without anyone around to please, she could sleep until dawn and no one would reprimand her.

* * *

**Two Days Later **– **Black Market Entrance**

The pair was a little late with their arrival since Starrk mentioned he overslept that morning, but relieved her anxiety by telling her that the Watson Auction wouldn't take place until later that night. He offered to take her out for breakfast to lessen the time in between, but she offered him food there and told him to lead the way to the black market. She was curious to see what it looked like but as they stood at a cross street which led to the supposed entrance to the black market, she was gravely disappointed. It was normal. Beyond normal and bland – ordinary that it did not seem any different from the rest of the city. She wondered how people would even know they were in the right place if it looked the same as everything else.

"It's normal," she said after a brief silence.

"You can't expect something illegal to be conspicuous."

"Illegal?" she spluttered, looking up at him wide-eyed.

He nodded. "It's a different world from this point onward; you can turn back if you're—"

Layla had already taken a head start into the invisible boundary that wrapped around the black market, her eyes brimming with curiosity as she looked around.

Starrk followed close behind, closing the distance between them with long strides catching onto the hidden onlookers as their eyes met with the young woman walking in front of him. He knew the greedy members of the black market would try something against them, so he kept his guard up just in case.


	8. Auction 1

**Masquerade**

Chapter 8

- _**Auction 1**_-

_Like brittle flowers which fall apart with a simple touch…_

"It's painstakingly normal," Layla muttered, feeling her newly found interest dwindling as they continued taking their non-communal stroll through the boundaries of the Black Market. Though she found other tidbits strange, the area she thought would have been filled with all sorts of stands with merchandise or anything of the sort were non-existent and the people loitering around the streets gave the two the oddest of looks. They may have mistaken them as new money – easy prey. Even if they were preyed upon, they had ways of harming them ten times worse than they harm them. Give and take situations are what molded the cruel exterior of the three families and they grew with it.

Starrk shot her an uneasy glance with a sigh. "What exactly did you expect?"

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Something different with plenty of people running amok, understand?"

"You do know this half of the city is dead?"

"Not until you've told me."

"Layla…do you not use your resources well? My thirteen-year-old sister knows all of this."

"I'm not privileged to indulge in other affairs but my own."

"Do they include any sort of accommodation to your family's social standing?"

"It would be against restrictions to tell and for you to ask is another," she replied smartly.

Starrk stopped walking and turned to her. "There are no restrictions between you and me," he corrected passively.

"Our families are enemies—"

"That's where you are wrong. They are not enemies, they're only leaders after similar goals – business partners if you will."

Layla scoffed. "Business partners? Your grandfather is out to kill my father."

"And he has a good reason to do so; your father has been buying shares to our businesses without our consent."

"Then your grandfather is to blame for having horrible business skills."

"Well whoever is to blame is of no concern of mine," he conceded.

"Then why start this argument to begin with if you'll just give up halfway."

"I don't start arguments, Layla," he replied. "I end them."

"You're ridiculous."

"Let's continue our walk."

She followed his lead and huffed. "What would you know of restrictions?"

"You're not nobility is what I know of them."

She glared at the back of his head. "I do resent that."

"There is no need for you to do it; Aizen already took care of it."

"What would you know?"

"I know plenty, as aforementioned it is in my duty to know everything – though it's a pain and I would much rather sleep, I can do nothing about it."

"You're wrong."

"You are probably the first member of the Aizen clan that I found out about."

"Is there a reason for you being such a pervert?"

"You were just the wild card."

Layla gave him an odd incomprehensible stare and he gave her the same smirk before walking on ahead, only stopping when he noticed she was no longer following him. She was too confused to let the whole thing slip, but there were more important things for her to do than wallow on every little thing he said. Instead, when she took the first step forward she decided to leave everything piling up in the back of her head, she would regard it in due time.

* * *

They faced no difficulties while roaming around the streets once they began gather more and more visitors – some who Starrk seemed familiar with considering he was greeted left and right by many aristocrats meddling in shady businesses. Starrk gave them dismissive greetings most of the time and found their small talk beyond boring and it showed on his face whenever she shot him a sideways glace. It was as if the affairs pertaining to the Black Market were of no interest to him, yet he was so knowledgeable of the walkways, the radius of the area, the types of businesses taking place within the illegal circle – he knew names of many backwashed nobles who simply had to buy their titles from the market rather than earning them through noble right who earned higher currency by indulging in certain gambles within the area. She often felt the need to question him, finding it especially suspicious of him to even be capable of being that informed while she didn't even know a smidgen of detail relating to anything with ties to the black market. All she knew was her father had been previously involved, but retracted his interest and indulged in something with better profit. She heard it from Szayel, who seemed to know everything about anything…even minor details.

Once they were stopped by a French man who greeted her first by name before turning to Starrk and addressing him as kindly as possible. "And what would a lady of your status be doing with a man like this?" he asked, casting an odd look at him.

Layla stared at the plump-cheeked man, looking up at Starrk seeking a response from him since she didn't have any. Starrk merely shrugged uninterested and she puffed her cheeks looking back at the man when she happened upon an idea. "What's a gentleman such as yourself doing in the middle of the Black Market?"

The man was taken aback. "Well young Lady Layla, my business in the market is of no concern of yours."

She cracked a smile. "Well, _sir_, I must say my company has nothing to do with you either."

Layla grabbed a hold Starrk's arm and pushed past the man with the latter in tow. "And so you are capable of being rude to someone other than myself."

"I can be rude to whoever I wish; you only manage the brunt of it because you're such a pest."

"Hmm," he began lightly. "Saving you from getting kidnapped makes me a pest?"

"Pest," she asserted.

"I was going more along the lines of chivalrous gentleman."

She laughed mockingly. "Chivalrous? You? While knowing everything there is to know about this place? This isn't very funny."

"Coincidence," he remarked.

"How can that arsenal of information bypass as mere coincidence?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Common sense?"

"Just be quiet and start leading the way again." She let go of his hand, hearing him chuckle amused.

* * *

**Slums of London**

**Warehouses, etc**

The days had thinned out and after asking Rose to take care of further advances to the jewelry thief of the three families, Shinji had brought Rose along to help with the underground auctions. Regrettably as they walked through a street of abandoned buildings, they found no leads as to where the auction would take place and his patience was lacking at that point. He even considered stomping up to Aizen's manor to question Layla after he saw her hold a conversation with that gypsy. The exchange itself was questionable, he could simply go on a limb and confirm they had a connection, but he wasn't one to jump to conclusions without more information or an interrogation.

Shinji pushed through rickety wooden doors and his eyes met with yet another empty space. The half of the two they had been searching were a part of the slums consisting of a good portion of abandoned buildings and old warehouses that were said to be used to house illegal trades and at times host unlawful auctions. Through Kensei's report he gathered that the Horace Watson auction would take place that midnight in a lot of empty buildings, but they weren't certain of the location. This particular part of town was the only thing that had seemed suspicious, but the only people within the usually vacant streets were the few foreigners and a good handful of homeless residents.

Scraps of broken wood were thrown askew across the crack-filled floors and a thick decadent scent reached his nostrils, like moss and rotten timber. The warehouse was large and hollow with a long walkway available even after it weathered with time.

"I do think we're being misled," Rose said, climbing halfway up the staircase to meet with the chief.

Shinji frowned, slamming the doors shut and listening to the repercussions of his harsh swing when the left wooden door fell from its hinges.

Rose sighed when it hit the ground.

"Where the hell else can we find it?" he asked impatiently. "This is the only place that fit the description Kensei dug up."

"You're right and if we're unable to find the auction, we won't be able to halt the trade even if we have that slither of information," Rose replied as he turned away.

"Shaddup, I know what it means without ya having to say anything," Shinji stated kicking a pebble before walking down the steps. "If we have nothing against Watson, he can simply hide behind Luisenbarn's guard and get away with murder."

"Since Watson has no relation to Luisenbarn, their amnesty plan wouldn't work for him, would it?"

"We can't criminalize the man because his benefactor is Luisenbarn, we need evidence to be able to detain him and stop his unlawful businesses," Shinji stated. "Without it, he's as well off as the Three Families. The case will only go cold—"

Laughter rang in his ears as they stepped onto the street and their attention drawn to a well-dressed man leaning against a broken lamppost, arms crossed over his chest wearing a hat which hid his eyes. A large smile appeared over his lips as he pushed his hat upward revealing a pair of light-colored eyes.

"The chief who never sleeps, greetings." He stepped forward, taking his hat from his head and bowing. "A pleasure to m—"

"Who the hell are you?" asked Shinji.

"Making acquaintances at a time like this would slow your duties," he remarked smartly. "You're looking through all the wrong places, chief."

"What do you know?" Rose questioned.

"I know enough to say the auction will partake within the Black Market."

Shinji narrowed his eyes.

"We raided the Black Market a year ago," he stated.

The unrecognizable man chuckled once more, placing his hat back on his head. "You underestimate the owner of the Black Market, chief," he replied lightly. "There is a Black Market and the location is questionable, not even my lord has gotten around to discovering it."

"Who is your lord?"

He smirked. "In due time, chief."

Shinji rolled his eyes and turned to Rose. "Let's get going, we still have enough time to figure out the new place and stop the auction."

He argued whether or not to arrest the man and interrogate him until getting the last bit of information out of him, but decided it would take too much time out of his own investigation. Rose followed in silence.

* * *

**Barry-Watson Auction Location**

**Thirty Minutes before Midnight**

Starrk failed to mention the auctions took place late at night, or that they only had to cross the Black Market to arrive to a private manor where the scene would play out. But unlike the rest of the guests which had entered in extravagant masks who were there on invitation, they were the only pair who bribed the guard at the entrance with a large sum of money. They crossed the threshold after a quick exchange, clad in monochrome masks which hid their identity among the large sum of nobles, the two headed into the large hall where their ears met with the hearty clamor of the guests. Eyes were on the two when they entered the room and Starrk led her to the table to their left where there were a number of wineglasses half-full of champagne. He picked up a glass, taking a sip and taking another, handing it to her.

Layla took it and gulped it all down in a single go, thinking the alcohol may prevent her from having a nervous breakdown. "Gewürztraminer," she said, pulling the glass from her lips noting its spicy characteristics and the strong fragrance.

"It's strangely sweeter than usual."

She nodded slowly and set down her empty glass to pick up another before shuffling past the crowd of people to the center of the room, Starrk following suit. Layla felt someone bump into her side hard the further into the group she had gotten and a woman in a luxurious gown wearing a sparrow-like mask turned to face her with a large smile.

"Sorry, darling."

Starrk pulled her closer to him before she could manage a response and help clear the way, closer to the now empty stage. She glanced up at him and then back to the platform.

"Thanks."

Starrk reached for his pocket watch and checked the time. "Twenty minutes."

Layla took a sip of her drink and tapped her feet against the linoleum, listening to the conversations exchanged between those around them. She was flighty and nervous, just knowing there were twenty minutes before the auction made things worse.

"Barry is also auctioning, isn't he?" She looked back up to him.

"Barry already did, two hours before our arrival."

"Was he also…you know…?"

"Selling individuals?" He arched an eyebrow and noticed her nod her head. "He was. Three women and a child."

"A child?" She felt a knot form in her stomach in disgust.

"This wouldn't be the first time a child was sold into captivity," he responded. "The world is full of sick individuals and it is your father's fault for being unable to allow you enough freedom to realize the ugly side of nobility."

"How can you just stand there knowing this and not doing anything about it?"

"There is no reason for me to involve myself and if I were—" He shook his head, drinking more from his champagne. "Forget it. It's simply as it is."

Layla eyed him suspiciously. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," he replied with a curt shrug.

"You're obviously hiding something, my curiosity is piqued." She had a gloved hand over his arm which caused him to look down to it.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself over Layla," he replied. "In fact, I would advise you to remain ignorant…just a little longer."

She withdrew her hand from him and turned away back to the platform where a few men were working on the setting, arranging a few things before a red curtain was dropped and the crowd fell silent. She could hear the murmurs behind the curtains like faint whispers mixed between tentative exchanges within the impatient crowd. The noise level rose between the next minutes and so had the one behind the red curtains, things rustling, people screaming, and the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

"What purpose do you have to being here?"

"To buy," Layla replied lowly, her eyes never leaving the light silhouette cast along the ruffles of the curtain.

Starrk arched an eyebrow and turned his attention forward, drinking from his wineglass while a troubling thought settled in his mind showing through in his usually calm features. "I see."

"What does Watson specialize in?"

"Drug and human trafficking, he also inherited a textile company," he explained, drawing back the glass from his lips.

"What a bastard," she muttered.

"Why do you say that?"

"He traffics people! Why wouldn't I? And all these sick bastards are just standing here in line waiting to buy them!" She lost a little composure, causing the wine to swirl in her glass along with her quick movement.

"I wouldn't think you any different," he replied lightly, staring her down. "You came to buy, and his auction tonight only features people."

"You shouldn't be so quick to judge me, I have my reasons." She turned away, reluctant to confess the truth to him.

"A woman such as yourself has the ability to buy anyone off the street if you need aid with anything and you can find any man to service you intimately—"

She slapped her hand over his chest harshly. "What do you take me for? I'm not here to find sexual gratification."

"Is that so?" he asked, taken aback slightly. "Then why are you here?"

"It's a private matter, don't question or judge me," she replied. "I'm not looking for servitude or anything…I'm only trying to repay someone…"

Everyone's attention was shifted when a tall man in a gray suit stepped on the stage and the people clapped harmoniously to his sudden appearance. She knew by the looks of the older gentleman that he was Horace Watson and the sudden churn in her gut only confirmed it.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen!" he called enthusiastically prowling the stage like a carnivorous animal stalking its prey. The crowd had quieted down to give his words volume and resonance as they bounced off the walls to fill the entire hall. "Tonight I have a treat for you all." They clapped once more like robots with the exception of herself and Starrk who stood in silence by the front of the stage. The dark-haired man cast a glance at them both, double-taking before continuing his entrance speech.

"From exotic men and women to angelic faces and naughty characteristics, tonight there will be one to remember! And for the gentleman sitting in wait, the special dessert is to die for." The crowd roared with glee and excitement while she continued downing her wine, but Horace's gaze tended to fall in their direction every time he crossed the platform to the other side. "What do you say we begin our final auction for tonight?"

A cacophonous yes sounded and she felt her fingers jitter with the sudden pause. It felt like entering the circus tent, having the ringleader start off the show with some sort of introduction to have everyone happily cheering before entering a dangerous scene – the man with the perfect thrown, never missing a target, pins his assistant and throws daggers always hitting the crosses painted on wood starts the event. The same atmospheric effect inside a circus, the anticipation welling within an excited child wondering what would happen next – these people were disturbed reflections of those children waiting eagerly to see what prizes they may be able to go home with. The sickening corrosion of human morality stood before the eyes of a shameless man, who was as well respected among them as was the King behind them.

With a low bow and a tip of his matching hat, the curtain was raised revealing an older male behind a wooden podium and a large cage holding a large-eyed child in captivity. Wrists chained to the bars, wearing what looked to be a potato sack with holes exposing bits of their small frame with unruly brown hair sitting all around the child's face. Eyes glided left and right full of confusion as the eyes of the buyers stared back at the child in scrutiny, some of them showing toothy grins as interest seeped into their systems.

Layla gripped the skirt of her black dress and she looked around her, already hearing the lascivious whispers of the monsters surrounding her. She felt the convulsion in the pit of her stomach with the thought of what would happen to that innocent child once she found its lifelong keeper – forced into work…forced into sexual favors.

She closed her eyes and took a breath, compiling the reasons for her assistance. She was there for Rye and Roxanne, to aid the Romani clan for what everything they had done for her many years ago and for Jaelle. But she felt horrible about standing there among the crown watching a child be sold to horrible people. She only had some money to spend, not enough to go home with all of the people being sold…just enough to release Rye and Roxanne from that man.

The old man had begun giving sufficient background on the young girl before he prepared himself to start the auction.

"Starting the bets at one hundred pounds," the old man calmly announced, holding up a pen dipped in ink over paper.

Horace was standing on the other side of the place with a glass of red wine in his hand, conversion with a man dressed in white.

"One hundred fifty!" A loud voice called.

"One hundred fifty—"

"Two hundred pounds!"

"Two hundred twenty!"

"Three hundred eighty!"

"Three hundred ninety!"

After the final bet there was a brief silence, the old man was scribbling over like a madman, his eyes lifted upward at the crowd as those who people involved in the bets had withered down to three.

"We have three hundred ninety, anyone have four hundred pounds?"

"Four hundred!"

"We have four hundred," the old man recited.

"Four hundred eighty!"

"Five hundred fifty pounds!"

"Six hundred pounds.

"Seven hundred pounds!"

There was a long silence without responsive bets and so the agreement was settled.

"Sold to the man in red!" the old man announced slamming his hand over the wood.

Starrk further explained the auctions by saying the winners of each item – person – would be allowed their earnings after the show where they would have a quick exchange about the business side of their sells. The old man, Cooper, was supposed to have a photographic memory and had not once made a mistake. After his briefing, the sells continued, women and children coming by and being sold for over one thousand pounds. Only few men had graced the stages and they looked to be drugged to which Starrk commented was a method used on plenty of the people in the cage to prevent unglamorous scandals that may interrupt the flow of their duties.

Horace's eyes had only left their forms a few times during the past five people. The peculiarity of his attention was slowly getting to her, feeling uneasy with the sudden attention and hoped those sly glances weren't directed at either one of them as she feared the outcome of being discovered. Starrk said dangerous and she wondered if it meant everyone would attack them without reason or even attempt at auctioning them off as she heard from him when she was almost kidnapped. It sent shivers down her spine before she was distracted by the new person being pulled into the stage by shackles and chains.

This time it was another male with analyzing green eyes and a furrowed brow, tanned skin from excessive exposure to the sun and long black hair hiding his handsome face. He wore elaborate clothing, unlike the other people who had already been sold, in a loose white shirt and a black gold-lined opened vest which was held down by a leather sash and a pair of loose black pants cuffed by gold at the heel. He was covered in gold from head to toe and she could tell it was real with a single glance, seeing the necklace around his neck, the bracelets just above his cuffs and the jingling of the splay of gold around his ankles. His eyes scanned the crowd once and then returned to the ground as he was pushed into the cage.

The lock was secured and her heart palpitated. "Rye."

Starrk spared her a glance before Horace walked to the cage.

"This here is a specialty, a dish for the ladies to enjoy," he began with a sly smirk. "He is overall capable of many things and was revered to be royalty among his tribesmen, a musician and dancer of a very beautiful art. He is here to please ladies…and gentlemen." His smile widened at the reception. "Enjoy this wonderful catch and begin. Betting starts at four hundred pounds."

Starrk looked at her, noticing her anxiety had gotten the best of her once the man entered the platform. He leaned forward close enough to her ear for her to listen through the jeers of the people. "When betting, make sure you're believable…don't simply raise the price, it'll seem suspicious and Watson is a perceptive man," he said. "He will not settle for the highest bidder if it seems as though they're hiding something from them."

"Four hundred fifty!"

Layla nodded and gulped down the lump in her throat. She would do her best to keep her calm while bidding.

"Five hundred twenty."

"Six hundred pounds!"

"Six hundred fifty."

"Seven hundred."

"Eight hundred!"

"Ooo, you ladies are quite impressive this evening," Horace commented slyly.

Layla finished her glass of wine and pushed past Starrk to get herself another from the table, when she did the bids had escalated further and the battle was among three women and two males. She moved through the crowd back to the front to join the brown-haired man once more and took a sip of her white wine.

"One thousand five hundred pounds!"

She cleared her throat and with a single offer called all attention to her. "Two thousand."

Even Horace looked jittery as the crowd went silent. Cooper looked around the room and his eyes landed on her as she raised her glass in appraisal before taking another drink.

"Two thousand five hundred." The shrill voice of a woman rang in the room, followed by another.

"Three thousand!" This time it was a male's.

"Two thousand was quite a number," Starrk whispered beside her ear.

"I'll go to three hundred thousand if I have to," she replied.

The bidding continued between the shrill woman and the male until he had put down four thousand five hundred upon the table. The silence ensued after he had the last word.

"We have four thousand five hundred," Cooper said scoping the area in search for more bidders.

It remained quiet.

"Sold—"

"Five thousand pounds," Layla called before he could finish and lifted her glass.

"The lady says five thousand pounds!" Cooper said excitedly. "Any higher bids, sir?" He looked in the man's direction and got a wave of the hand when he dropped out. He turned his attention back to her with a large smile on his face before slamming his hand down on the table and pointed directly at her. "Sold, to the lady in black."

Layla felt a sense of relief, having gotten a hold of Rye without messing up once with her anxiety.

"That was quite heated." She looked to her left as a woman in a sparkling mask regarded her. "What are you going to do with such a lovely man?"

"I'll have to see," was her curt response.

"Watson is coming." Starrk nudged her and turned his body away from hers as the man in question jumped of the stage and the crowd made room.

He offhandedly greeted the other guests before shifting his attention to her and stalling the auction from proceeding any further. He bowed lowly to her presence and took her gloved hand and kissing it. "Horace Watson at you stead, may I have the honor of knowing your name, my lady?"

"Mr. Watson," she said with a playful smile, though her stomach sunk in repulsion. "Do you not think it unfair of having stopped the auction for a simple introduction?"

The man gave a hearty laugh. "I could not resist from the moment I saw you and have waited to see if you would partake in my auction."

"Is it my money that attracts you sir?" she asked, seeing nothing attractive in the man's words worth playing against him.

"By god, no, you are an attractive woman; I only took my chance on a whim."

"How can you tell if I am attractive, when half of my face is covered?" she challenged lightly.

"It is the mystery that attracts me further, my lady," he said, tightening his hold on her hand.

"And if your mystery is not to your liking?"

"I find that very difficult to digest."

She laughed lightly and kicked Starrk's leg making him groan in response.

Starrk gave Horace a sideways glance. "Watson, you can meet the lady later, once the auction is over."

Horace looked up to see the taller man glaring at him through the eyeholes of his matching mask to Layla's and squinted just a tad before agreeing. He excused himself, kissing her gloved hand once more before climbing back on stage and asking Cooper to continue where they left off.

Layla downed the rest of her wine. "I'll be burning this glove after this gathering."

"That was a bit abrasive of him…quite unlike the man really," Starrk commented.

"It's very unlikely for me to even encounter such men."

"You aren't normal confronted by men who find you attractive?"

"No, I—"

Starrk snorted and she was quick to elbow him in the side.

"Don't laugh you fool!"

The auction continued from their and her heartbeat quickened whenever she knew the next person would be pushed into the cage. Over an hour had already passed and her feet were aching in her heels from standing, but she was assured the sales would conclude within the next half hour. The people were getting excited as the grand prize was about to be offered and she hoped a miracle would happen – so that the second to last person was Roxanne, but when the person preceding the highlight of the eve, her heart sank.

It was not Roxanne.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Lotta numbers there...and done for human trafficking. Some people are pigs, which is what I tried to put out there with the rich nobles wasting money of buying others. Sigh. I would probably have more to say, but I really am too tired to go through and say it. Man, this sounds like nonsense! Gah, I'll just stop talking, I'm going to die of exhaustion.

Thank you for reading!


	9. Auction 2

**Masquerade**

Chapter 9

- _**Auction 2**_-

_And tiny little nothings which cling to us with anguish—_

_The fallout of their history sits upon our miseries._

Since the trails they had chosen to follow disappeared, they were forced to return back to the station. There was nothing they could do to stop the auctions rumored from taking place. It was past midnight when Shinji walked into his office with a mug of coffee. He set the mug on his desk, taking the documents splayed all over the surface and plopping into his chair with a dejected sigh. He hated those gypsies, but they were kind enough to give them information from what they themselves heard. He would have much rather enjoyed returning the favor to them by helping out that thief and her brother while raiding an illegal auction, but every lead they had was a set up to have them running around like idiots. Someone was obviously keeping an eye on them, purposely feeding them the wrong information in order to protect the new black market.

Rose knocked against the doorframe, reeling Shinji's attention to him. Shinji merely gestured for the man to enter as he leaned back in his seat, lifting his feet and resting them over the surface of his desk.

His companion crossed the office to the window where he stopped, peering outside at the empty streets. "Do you think that man's word is trustworthy?"

"It's questionable," Shinji replied. "We can't be sure if Watson has ties to the market. It'll be hasty if we jump to conclusions…_again_."

"But we do know he's hosting an auction behind closed doors, there's no reason to question it when Love is the one who dug up the information."

"Yet he greeted us at his home when we paid a visit," he said. "We have people stationed all around his property and none have come back to say he's left. The bastard's safe until we find him guilty."

"Why don't we bring him in for questioning?"

"If we do that, we'll have to deal with Luisenbarn. We're still not done paying the damn fee he gave us for questioning one of his bodyguards, fuckin' vagrants." He tossed his papers back onto his desk and let out another fastidious sigh.

"It's best to remain patient until we find something against them…"

"I'm tired of waiting. I've been at this damn job since that bastard Aizen came to London," he stated. "They may have bought everyone's secrecy to keep them safe, but there is bound to be some poor sucker out there with the information we need. I can't handle this taking any longer than it already has."

Rose nodded.

* * *

**Barry-Watson Auction Location**

"Sold for one thousand forty pounds!" Cooper announced, pointing out the man who had bought the young Icelandic woman inside the cage.

Layla dropped her gaze to the floor not knowing what to expect when Roxanne came onto the stage and dreaded the minutes as they ticked closer to the moment of truth. Horace walked to the center of the platform, a large devilish smile adorning his face as he paced back and forth waiting for some order in his audience. Everyone had eagerly awaited the finale, for they were known to be good when it came to Horace Watson. The man gathered the best of the best when it came to trafficking humans. He was known to be manipulative. That's how he got his hands on all of those innocent people…but to think…

"This next one is my treat to all you men out there," he began. "She is a woman of many talents, a rose among thorns." Like idiots, the men enjoyed the mention and she felt revolted, but at the sound of the chains rasping along the wooden flooring, she looked up.

Roxanne was led to the cage, older than she remembered her with long billowing raven hair which fell across her bare shoulders. She wore nothing but a sheer outfit that displayed her body in every detail to the men who were present to buy her. The young woman's bright-colored eyes met with the crowd lazily as if she had been asleep before being rudely awakened. Her eyes dropped back to the ground.

Layla was so distracted by the sight of her for the first time in years that it was as if she was looking at a stranger. She didn't even listen to Watson's words before Cooper began taking bets, this time the noise level had risen along with the number of people attempting to get their dirty hands on her.

"Three thousand five hundred!"

Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as she heard the price continue scaling the thousands for the tan-skinned woman sitting half naked behind metal bars.

"Did they just say three thousand?" she meekly whispered.

"They started at a thousand," Starrk explained, leaning into her. "It can go past the ordinary margin considering the woman's attractive—"

Layla smacked him. "How dare you?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Well, not as attractive as you, but—"

She elbowed him this time, her face flushing red at the offhanded compliment. "Shut up!"

"Is this the other person you want to help?"

She nodded.

"Five thousand pounds."

"If you're gonna bet I suggest you do it now," Starrk said lightly.

Layla tried, but whenever she opened her mouth, someone else would cry a bet higher than the one she had planned. It was disastrous, but Horace Watson was as happy as a child in a candy story. He even subjected himself to having a nice drink of red wine to celebrate the fortune he would be making out of Roxanne, to which he lifted his glass in her direction as if thanking her in some odd way. She ignored him.

Without a word in to draw the attention towards her, Layla was in a rut. Even if she tried screaming out a bet, someone would yell something bigger…ten times larger than she had to offer. The problem was considering the sudden trip her family decided to take, she was only entitled to spending a certain amount without it seeming suspicious to her father, who would probably punish her for going to an auction. It could be murder if he knew with whom.

"We have eleven thousand five hundred, will anyone go any higher?"

"Eleven thousand, you're kidding me…?" she whispered, exasperated.

"Thirteen thousand pounds."

Cooper chuckled. "You're an eager one, sir."

"I bet to win."

"Fifteen thousand pounds!" another man called.

"I can't cough up fifteen thousand pounds…" she muttered to herself, feeling the anxiety she hoped the wine would have shaken off.

Even though the bets were wedged between two men now, and they were both very eager to go home with the prize, willing to throw out as much money as possible without feeling the repercussions because of their high ranks in society; she needed to do something. Layla could risk going higher than set bounds, but she never perceived Rye to be sold for so much to start, nor had she thought about the consequences she would be facing were she to take such a step up.

The arrogant man who had spoken directly to Cooper to show his determination raised the bar higher than she anticipated. "Twenty-five thousand pounds!"

"Can I simply smite them and take the goddamned woman?" she asked, bothered by how difficult it was becoming.

"That's always an option," Starrk agreed, finishing his wine. "Though, it'll be difficult to explain killing a duke to your father once the deed is done."

She waved her hand in his face. "Shut up."

Starrk laughed.

"Forty-five thousand pounds!"

"Sixty thousand pounds!"

"Seventy thousand!

"Eighty thousand."

"I find it evermore aggravating that they're skipping thousands now." She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Weren't you about to bet?" asked Starrk.

"I have my limits," she answered seriously. "If this hits the margin I have available, I won't be able to help Roxanne without resorting to methods I'd rather avoid."

"Like murder?"

"You act as if we're not in a room full of eyes and ears, sir."

"Everyone can easily be silenced."

"That doesn't mean they should."

"A hundred fifty thousand pounds."

"Horace Watson looks about to die of joy." Starrk pointed out the man swigging his wineglass his way.

"I will personally murder that—"

"Bet as high as you are able…chances are they people won't be willing to go very high."

"I'm very tentative of doing so."

"But you have no choice, do you?"

Layla sighed, listening close to the bets. One hundred ninety thousand was the current number and the silence was close to deafening before the other male exclaimed two hundred thousand, she tallied up the number of money she had available and decided to settle with the number.

"Four hundred fifty thousand," she shouted over the noise, causing a silence to ensue.

"That's quite a number," Starrk muttered close to her.

She couldn't help but kick him to silence him.

"We've got four hundred fifty thousand, courtesy of the woman in black," Cooper announced. "Is anyone willing to go any higher, sir?" He arched an eyebrow at the man at the front of the stage a number of people away from Layla and Starrk.

The older gentleman laughed and nodded his head. "Six hundred thousand pounds," he said before turning his head in her direction. "Would the lady like to go any higher?"

Layla scoffed, no longer about money but pride. "Eight hundred thousand."

"Nine hundred thousand."

She gulped and frowned deeply. _Okay, forget the thought of pride ever crossed my mind._

"Can you go any higher?" asked Starrk.

"I can, but I'm not entitled to do so," she replied beneath her breath.

"Are you withdrawing?"

Layla signal her withdrawal and figured she should begin planning the man's demise while she was present.

"So—"

"One million pounds," Starrk called besides her.

She whipped around to face him, mouth agape. "What do you think you're doing?" Her hands grabbed him by the waist coat and shook him with a demanding glare.

He didn't regard her, instead he kept eye contact with Cooper who had been about to announce the duke as the winner.

"We have one million," Cooper announced with a large smile on his face.

"I find that very intrusive on your behalf gentleman!" called the man as he pushed through the crowd to confront him.

Starrk pushed Layla behind him making her drink slosh in the wineglass. "The man had yet to announce the end of the auction, if you'd like to be higher, I'll do so as well."

The older gentleman turned to Cooper. "I'll continue with two million pounds."

"Three million," Starrk countered.

Layla grabbed a hold of Starrk's arm, trying to get some answers, but he only pulled his arm from her grip as the man continued betting higher.

"Seven million pounds, you take it or leave it Horace Watson." The man was as red as a tomato when he made his demand, staring at the man who decided to join the two men.

"Ten million," was Starrk's curt reply.

"Will you stop betting?" Layla cried. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"Fifteen million," the man continued. "You should consider listening to your lady friend there."

"Twenty million," he answered, without paying heed to either one of their comments.

The old man was only wilting under the pressure while Watson admired the amount of money he was set to win that night – never had he expected a mere gypsy to be so popular among a crowd of nobles.

"Thirty million," the man concurred.

Starrk sighed and the old man beamed thinking he was about to withdraw his bet to allow him to win. Even Layla believed so, feeling relief wash over her until Starrk turned to Horace who was standing in front of him. "A hundred million and I'll have it paid tonight."

Her mouth dropped, along with everyone else's. Even Horace looked just about faint at the amount offered that it took him a good minute to regain his composure, signal to Cooper and allowed Starrk the victory without regarding the duke at his side that was almost as comatose as the rest of the guests.

Starrk turned to her with a yawn. "I got impatient."

"W-what—" Layla couldn't even think straight, let alone speak. "Y-you—"

He stared at her for a short while, taking the glass of wine from between her fingers and finishing it. He looked back at Horace who was more than happy with his earnings and frowned.

* * *

Everyone had left the house, with the exception of the buyers. Watson rounded them up so they could claim their purchases while Cooper had gone off to the back of the stage to have the servants pile up all the people auctioned off to the stage where they would be given out to their new owners. They were already given the order with the amount of money they were supposed to pay from Cooper who proved to have a photographic memory since he had gotten everything right. The lot of people in chains was set in front of their corresponding buyers, some requesting the chains to be kept on them to avoid any mishaps on the way out. The children were carried out; some of them had been given a drug to make them sleepy, much like Roxanne.

Watson was sure to tend to Layla and Starrk at the end, to strike up a conversation between them since they had been the highest bidders in his auction. He approached them; pulling Rye along with him with the chains around him, while a larger man carried a sleeping Roxanne.

"I cannot thank you enough for making my auction as lively as it was, weren't it for your generous bets, this would have never been a success," he said with a low bow.

"Were they drugged?" Starrk signaled to the two.

"Only the woman was," he said. "She's a bit feisty and would have made this exchange a bit difficult; the young lad does not speak English. I sure hope that won't be a problem."

"It's not," Layla said. "Because he does speak English."

Rye quirked an eyebrow once she finished speaking.

Horace chuckled with disbelief. "You're quite mistaken, my lady—"

Layla walked past him, taking the chains from his hands and holding out hers to Horace. "The key."

"I don't think it's smart for you to unchain him; there are chances he'll run," Horace said quickly as he reached into his pockets.

She turned to face the younger male with a stern look in her eyes, though it would be hard for him to recognize her with that mask over half her face it was worth a try. "I will not harm you, understand?"

Rye simply nodded, his expression void of emotion but his eyes brimming with curiosity. Even if he did decide to run, he would feel horrible about leaving Roxanne behind. Layla knew that, which is why she knew untying him wouldn't be as hazardous as Watson claimed.

The man set the key in her hand and she reached for the shackles, undoing them all. When he was freed from the metal cuffs, he merely rubbed his wrists to show the strain they had put on him.

She smiled at him, placing a hand over his cheek. "Thank you."

He stared at her straightly, watching when she turned back to join her companion. She looked at Watson as well. "I'll have the money sent to you by tonight."

"There is no need for you to hurry my lady," Watson said. "In fact, I could simply ignore your purchase and let you have the boy if you'll tell me who you are."

"You'd willingly let go of five thousand pounds to know my name?" she questioned with a small smile on her face, finding it ridiculous on his part.

"Yes," he said with a curt nod. "But also to prove to you that it is not your money but your beauty that has attracted me."

She shot a glance at Starrk who merely nodded in response before looking back at Watson. "Layla."

"Layla," he recited. "A darling name."

"Layla?" Rye questioned aloud, drawing attention to himself as he lifted a finger to point to her. "Layla…Aizen?"

She nodded and as soon as she did, Rye bolted towards her wrapping both arms around her nearly knocking her on the ground. "Layla," he repeated with his voice full of emotion. He pulled away, pushing the mask off her face and staring down at her. "Sister." He kissed both her cheeks earning a few awkward stares from the others before pulling her back into a tight embrace. "Layla…"

Her stomach clenched and she swallowed the lump in her throat having expected a different reaction from him, but he wrapped his arms around her warmly. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes saddened at the feel of similar sentiments welling up inside of her. She tentatively reached both her hands over his back to return his hug. The feeling came naturally and the warmth filled her with joy. He had not resented her as she would have thought and held her with such tenderness that almost caused her to shed a tear, but the joy shone brighter than the sorrow.

When she pulled him off her, she stared up at him with a small smile. "We'll speak of this later, first we'll take Roxanne."

Rye nodded eagerly, standing by her side.

Starrk yawned again. "Can we take them now?"

Watson nodded wordlessly.

"Would you mind carrying her?" Layla looked at Rye.

"No, it's fine."

Rye walked over to the man holding Roxanne and took her from him. He turned to Layla and Starrk dropped his jacket over the woman, excusing himself and heading out the exit. Layla followed close behind, still trying to figure out why he would spend so much money on someone he didn't know so well.

Even if she asked…he may never tell.

Watson stayed behind in the center of the hall with Cooper standing on the stage. "Did she say he name was _Layla Aizen_?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes sir, I trust she did."

"I do think we did well by not asking her to pay for her purchase," Watson replied lightly.

Cooper only nodded.

* * *

"Sister?" Starrk questioned on their way down the street, though he only sought hearing the truth from her than rumors spread amongst the members of his family.

"Is that a problem?" asked Layla, barely sparing a glance at the man.

"I'm surprised my assumptions were correct," he admitted. "But I would have never thought you were of gypsy origin." She looked at him, noticing he was still wearing the mask and reached up to him, pulling it off. "Ow."

"There's no reason for you to know anymore than you already do," she stated, tossing the mask on the ground. "This tidbit of information should clarify your assumptions, but do try to remember, I am also a noble."

"If you weren't, your father would have never brought you into his household," he replied.

She frowned.

"Why did you have to bet?" she asked suddenly. "I never asked for you help."

"Considering as I have yet to buy you France in order for you to forgive me, I've given your friend her freedom for starters," he said before yawning. "Are you even tired?"

"Is sleeping all you think about?" she complained.

"No," he answered passively. "I also think about the types of birds I've seen and how many fish are in the pond in the garden and from time to time I wonder if you're still breathing."

Layla's cheeks flushed red and she shoved him before he could see her blushing face. "That is not something you openly say to a lady, you vagrant. Why would I stop breathing to start?"

He laughed lightly.

She turned to Rye who was following the conversation with a large question mark on his face. "Hurry Rye, it's best not to mesh with the enemy."

"You do it quite often Layla," Starrk said.

"I wouldn't if you weren't following me all the time, stalker," she accused.

"I wouldn't need to if you simply stopped being so obstinate and listened."

"I have every right to ignore you, Luisenbarn."

"My name is still Starrk."

"And even if it wasn't you would still belong to that nasty family of yours," she argued.

"Don't think I'm proud of it," he replied aloofly. "I'd rather not be a part of it."

"I never asked for an explanation to your dread."

"You really are difficult," he admitted.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

"Well, what does your opinion have to do with anything?"

"My opinion has everything to do with this," she stated and he nodded mockingly. "First you attack my rank, and then reveal you've been looking into my past, you're following me and doing things I've never asked you for. What's wrong with you? Our families are enemies, this looks bad on both our behalves and I'd rather not stain my father's name."

"I give up," he said lightly. "When you want to talk like normal people, I'll be in my manor, so if you'll excuse me."

Starrk walked on ahead, causing her ire to stir like a maelstrom and she was a second away from running up to him and kicking him as hard as she was capable, but Rye placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Is that man really that bad?"

Layla frowned, watching the brown-haired man walk on ahead with both hands in his pockets, not a care in the world. "Yes, he's that bad!" she shouted purposely. "He's been keeping tabs on me and is one persistent stalker."

At that he turned around and waved with a smirk, only adding more to her anger.

"I'm not paying you back now!"

He shrugged his shoulders and continued walking.

"What a bastard," she mumbled.

"Layla…how much further are we walking…?" Rye asked with a grunt. "Roxanne is…really heavy, you see."

She shook her head, slapping her cheeks and began leading the way. "It'll take a while since we came walking, but when we get there…you can just…make yourself at home."

"Won't your…_father_ say anything?"

"No, he along with the rest of the family is out of town for who knows how long," she answered. "You'll be safe there."

She was still watching him, as he got further away from them, not once turning back. Once they left the invisible walls surrounding black market she noticed him stop by a bench, looking around the area before lying down on it. _What is wrong with this man?_ She approached him with an odd look on her face, allowing Rye to rest for a few minutes on the other bench and felt inclined to question his actions.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't answer, only made himself comfortable on the bench and exhaled.

"Don't tell me you're planning to sleep here?"

"Then I won't tell you," he replied, opening one eye to look at her.

"You could get mugged."

"I have nothing of value, except probably these clothes." He gestured to them.

"What if they strip you naked and sell your clothes?" she stated. "You could get arrested for indecency!"

"It's okay, I can't get arrested."

"But you'll be naked," she persisted.

He smirked. "I'll walk home. It's not far off."

"You're so annoying."

"You're the one not letting me sleep, and _I'm_ annoying?"

She reached for him, tugging at his arm. "Come help Rye carry her back to my manor; you can rest all you want there."

"Ah, now that's an offer," he said getting off the bench. He walked up to Rye and took Roxanne from him. "Let's go."

Layla rolled her eyes and kept walking.

* * *

Upon their arrival to her home, there was no one around to greet them. She had asked all of the servants in her home to sleep even if she was still out and thought it kind of them to listen. It would be plenty of trouble explaining why so many people had entered the household and she couldn't necessarily say it was a sleepover – all information would be relayed to her father whether she liked it or not. She quietly led everyone upstairs to her bedroom where she asked Starrk to leave Roxanne on her bed. Afterward, she plopped down on one of the couches and let out a deep sigh.

Rye was curiously looking around her room, seeming a bit reckless with her things while Starrk made himself comfortable besides her, putting his feet up on the small coffee table. She would have normally protested but by that time, she was already feeling the effects of staying up so late, being only slightly subjected to the effects of alcohol.

"Rye, feel free to take the bed with Roxanne," Layla said. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep all night."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "You can return home tomorrow morning or whenever you'd like."

"Thank you."

"What about me?"

Layla looked to her left at him with an arched eyebrow. "You can take the floor for all I care."

"Then I'll stay here, I'm too drunk to get on the floor." He nuzzled into the couch, making himself comfortable.

She arched an eyebrow. "Drunk?"

"I'm not a heavy drinker."

"You only had one glass of wine…" She recollected silently.

He stared at her. "I have low alcohol tolerance."

"Are you really drunk? Or are you just playing with me?"

He shook his head. "I'm drunk. I know. I can tell."

"You're unbelievable." She didn't believe him because frankly, he didn't even seem as drunk as he claimed to be. _Who gets drunk off one glass of wine?_

"I'm not lying."

"How can you tell?" she asked for clarification. "You don't seem very drunk."

"I'm naturally docile as a drunk," he responded. "Would you expect me to lose my cool and go on some sort of crazy inebriated rampage where I throw away millions of money?"

She felt a smile quirk over her lips at the sound of that. "You already spent millions on something I wanted."

"Then I'm drunk."

"I still find it hard to believe, but whatever." She turned away from him, listening to Rye quietly move around the room while they had curt conversations and once it became silent, she realized she was on the verge of falling asleep.

Layla made herself comfortable in her seat without a second thought and closed her eyes, though she knew she would regret sleeping with a corset in the morning. Right then, all she needed was rest.

* * *

**x L i l i m:**

That concludes the auction chapters and will be the window of opportunity to the "A Splash of Color". And, again, I know I'm taking forever with the romance, but I swear it's coming. Seriously. I have a good take on everything and how I'm going to implement it to the storyline. You'll see the more serious signs of romance blossom towards the end of the "A Splash of Color" chapters, which precede the two that follow. So, we really aren't far off and come on, there are some major hints out there. I'm just teasing you all. XD

**Thanks to**:

rainy-lullaby (I know what you mean, and I spent time surfing the web on that subject after finishing this chapter. I still shudder at the thought.), OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO (She's got a strain on her allowance, you could say. Else she may have just spent billions on getting them all. XD Poor girl. And Starrk? Starrk has a lot of secrets. I guess the mysterious aspect makes him more Starrk-like. lol), cheesebubble (Layla does whatever she wants whether it's in my control or not. btw...i like your name...always did just couldn't get myself to say so, or maybe I have. Have I?)


	10. The Day After

**Masquerade**

Chapter 10

- _**The Day After **_-

She awakened from dreamless slumber, sore from head to toe with excruciating pain centered over her corseted waist. Layla groaned quietly, finding it difficult to shift her weight in her restricted couch space, and opened her somnolent eyes. She blinked a number of times until her vision focused over the sleek streams of light peaking through the messily drawn drapes and wiped the drool from her lips. She gave little thought to her awkward position, exhausted to pay heed to the pain, which set to fade with the change of positions, or the light sounds emerging from within the room.

Instead, she drowsily nestled back into place, pulling up the skirt of her dress to draw her legs closer to her body when something heavy fell across her shoulder.

She jolted and whipped around, her tired gaze meeting with the buttons of a disheveled black vest—very much like the one Starrk wore the day before. She craned her neck to feel warm breath brush against her cheeks, following the sound of leveled breathing and the quiet beating of a dormant heart.

She nearly gasped, aghast, when she realized Starrk was splayed over the same couch sleeping, head resting on his propped up arm while the other was draped over her shoulders. And there she was with her head on his lap, too tired to move about her stiff and numbing body from it, and her face a deep scarlet. She told herself it was a mixture of embarrassment and awkwardness, but the flutter in her stomach and palpitation of her heart claimed otherwise.

Starrk slept calmly, a serene expression scrawled across his usually furrowed brow and frown, matted hair that had fallen out of its bound adorned his face. The longer she stared, the hotter her face became and heavier the embarrassment weighed on her shoulders knowing she drooled all over his lap.

_How much mortification must I overcome until you're satisfied?_ She mentally cried, pushing herself to a seat and patted down her messy auburn locks.

She wiped the color from her lips with the back of her ungloved hand and headed for the door, reaching out for the handle seconds before it was pushed open.

"Ah, good morning milady, I was just about to cover you with this blanket," the elder servant stated, holding it up.

Layla rubbed the hollows of her neck. "Could you prepare a bath for me?"

"Yes, milady." She pushed the blanket into her hands, leaving the room in a hurry.

She stared at the coverlet in confusion, then to Roxanne and Rye resting comfortable underneath two warm blankets, and lastly to Starrk, slumped over the couch with only a measly jacket to fight off a cold.

With a reluctant sigh, she walked back to her place besides him. She unfolded the blanket and draped it over him. She stared at his sleeping form and curiously ran her finger over his jawline with a spark of admiration in her eyes. She never bothered giving him a second look after finding out he was a Luisenbarn and as audacious as it may have been, against her pride, for once…she couldn't help but stare.

Layla stifled a yawn, drawing her fingers from his face and plopped down beside him.

She fiddled with the fabrics of her dress, fighting against sleep while waiting for her bath to be ready.

From time to time, her eyes treacherously met with the side of his face, but she quickly tore her gaze away.

* * *

Time passed quickly after reentering her chambers, dressed in a comfortable outfit. Rye sat against the headboard of the four-poster bed, sleepily taking in his unknown surroundings. She joined him at the end of the bed, leaning against the bedpost, and placed a hand over his.

"Did you sleep well?"

Rye rubbed his eyes with his free hand, tentatively taking hers into his other with a bitter smile on his face. "I don't think I ever slept so comfortably before in my life."

Layla dropped her gaze solemnly. "I'm sorry."

His grip tightened. "That's not how I meant it."

"I still feel inclined to express my deepest apologies to you and…" She cast a lonesome look toward the raven-haired woman at his side.

"Layla…" he pressed with a deep frown.

She took a breath and nodded. She couldn't waste such precious time beating herself up over something that was clearly not her fault. She had Rye and Roxanne in front of her eyes, they were much older than she recalled, but healthy and safe. She couldn't ask for more.

"How did this all go about?" she asked carefully.

Everyone had reached their limits yesterday that she promised not to ask questions until after the two were well rested, else she might seem like an insensitive bother.

Rye sighed and narrowed his eyes in disdain. "As always, it was Roxanne's fault," he started lowly. "Times have grown harsher for the past year within the caravan and we decided to take time to do a few jobs, aside from our street entertaining. It hadn't even been a month before she managed to catch Watson's eye."

He looked down at her hand and then at her for comfort. She squeezed tight, feeling anxious and disgusted at the thought of that man laying his dirty hands on Roxanne. "Eventually, she started changing, bit by bit, her behavior became aggressive, she began stealing, and she started leaving in the middle of the night only to return at dawn, and soon brought large sums of money." He cast an angry glance her way, obviously bitter. "She told me someone was willing to financially support her if she became their mistress…"

"Does your mother know about this?"

Rye looked at Layla, looking as though he was about to burst into tears. "No, she left the caravan years ago," he muttered. "I did consider she may have undergone that sudden change because of it…and I even confronted her, but she states our mother had nothing to do with it. She blames—"

"I know she blames me," interjected Layla strongly. "As she does for every other misfortune forced on her, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she found away to incorporate me into this mess she weaved."

He sighed again. "She's too hardheaded to understand now, but I'm sure she'll at least be thankful to you for getting us out of this predicament."

"I don't care if she does." Layla pulled her hand from his and stood up. "She has every right to hate me—"

"That wasn't your fault," he said deprecatingly.

The feeling bubbling at the pit of her stomach was ugly, full of the rawest emotions and it spawned from a history she never wished to be a part of. Everything that occurred on that day sat at the back of her head for her to avoid, so she would never hate herself for being the object that spawned the events which ruined Roxanne's mental peace. It was because they were present that she could always look back, hold on tightly to the hate she so despised to have, and never abandon the past that put her upon the pedestal she abhorred the most.

She wished she had Rye's selflessness, able to forgive even though she didn't deserve it and able to cherish her regardless of what she had become. She hoped for even a slither of it to shield the ugliness of her being.

Roxanne shifted beneath the covers and let out a pained groan, startling the two for a short while before she settled down. "I d-don't have your damn…pocket watch, stupid chief."

Layla and Rye exchanged awkward stares.

"At least she's back to normal," Rye said with an awkward laugh.

"There's breakfast for everyone downstairs, would you like to have some?" She instinctively changed the subject as she moved further from the bed and closer to the windows to pull apart the drapes.

"If it's not too much to ask," the young man said modestly.

"You can wash your face in that basin behind you, if you wish to use the restroom, it's down the hall to your right," she explained, crossing the room towards her other sleeping guest. "I'm going to wake this obnoxious man up."

Rye nodded and scuttled out the door.

She slapped her hands over his cheeks. "Starrk, I do believe you've wasted enough time sleeping in my couch, so if you will please get up…that would be just wonderful."

The brown-haired man barely moved, only wrinkled his nose.

"Hello."

Starrk groaned with discomfort and shut his mouth tightly.

"I'm happy you decided to close your mouth, but I want you to open your eyes," she continued sardonically. "Come on, I wouldn't want to slap you to gain some sort of reaction." This time her tone had turned threatening.

"Five more minutes," he moaned, shifting in his seat.

She pinched his nose and covered his mouth with a frown. "You'll suffocate."

After a good while of grim silence and no reaction on Starrk's behalf, once Rye joined Layla to take a gander at what was happening around them, he finally opened his eyes. When he did, she removed her hands from his face with a little smile on her face, watching him take large breaths while stretching his tired limbs.

"'Morning," he greeted lazily.

"Breakfast has been served, I recommend you join us and have a decent fill before I kick you out of my manor."

She took Rye by the hand and led him to the doorway without casting a second glance at Starrk.

"I'm amused to hear you sound so antagonistic towards me, even after I let you drool all over my leg last night."

She froze halfway past the threshold knowing he was smirking in his seat. Rye snorted and she quickly pushed him out of the room, shutting the door in his face. "Go downstairs! I've already asked them to treat you!"

She whirled around to see Starrk standing before her with a smirk.

"We could have easily avoided this had you moved me," she said hastily, hiding her embarrassment. "This is your _entire_ fault!"

He shrugged carelessly. "I know."

"Well if you know, you'll know never to bring this up in conversation…_ever._" She gave him a warning glare.

Starrk moved closer to her and reached for the doorknob. She stupidly froze when his hand brushed against her arm, her face flushing in the process. "I'll be heading home now."

She blinked regaining a good portion of her sanity in the process and stepped aside. "What about breakfast?"

He opened the door, still looking at her with a hint of a smile. "It's kind of you to offer, but you've already done enough for me."

Layla reached forward and took his arm to stop him before he stepped out of her room. Their eyes met and her heart nearly beat itself to death inside her ribcage. Her fingers rumpled the fabric of his jacket as her grip tightened and he didn't try to pull away.

_What am I doing?_

She dropped his arm and turned away gracelessly. "Fine, leave…I didn't want you here any longer than you already stayed."

He tipped his head forward, hiding that foolhardy smile from her sight. "Thank you for the hospitality."

Layla followed him into the hallway, glaring at Rye who was awkwardly standing in the middle.

Starrk shot a glance at the younger male. "Take better care of your sister."

He nodded.

She crossed her arms over her chest. After she had offered to feed him and everything, he simply takes off. _He has no manners whatsoever_, she inwardly complained still unable to shake the awkwardness from her system._ Doesn't even bother saying a word of farewell…_

She waited for it, but he merely walked off without another word. In fact, he only said goodbye to the handyman at the front of the house. She huffed and led the way towards the dining table. "Roxanne shouldn't wake up for another while."

"Is he aware of everything?"

She gave it little thought as she pulled a chair out. "No, not much…"

Rye sat at her side. "Is there a reason as to why he is near you…?"

"Why are you making that face?"

He hesitated. "N-no reason."

"Very well."

* * *

Roxanne didn't wake up until late afternoon, while Layla was showing Rye the garden as he requested after breakfast. They shared plenty of brief silences and spared a few moments to remember the days they had spent together before she arrived at the Aizen manor. It served as a nice splurge of recollection, but even though she smiled along with the younger man, she felt a slither of melancholy the longer they spent with one another. But even that chance at tranquility ended abruptly when a crash resonated from within the manor.

They were on their way inside when it happened and seconds after she heard the scream of her caretaker. Layla rushed to the foot of the stairs when the dark-haired gypsy stumbled on the last step, her fingers bleeding and face in panic before their eyes met.

Rye joined them shortly with a sigh of relief. "Roxanne."

"Are you okay?" asked Layla, concerned. "You're probably still delirious with the drug, but it—" She took a step forward noticing the blood in her hands. "I'll—"

"I never asked for your help!" Roxanne interjected, shoving past her.

She hit the nearest table harshly, but composed herself and watched the younger woman sprint further down the hall.

"Roxanne!"

She placed her hand on Rye's shoulder. "It's fine, leave her."

Roxanne turned to her brother with equal annoyance. "And you too, traitor!" she stated, rushing off. "I never asked for any of your help, you damn traitors!"

Rye tried running after her, but Layla stopped him. "There's no reason for you to run after her when she's so heated, but either way, I won't ask you to stay."

She headed up the staircase solemnly.

She felt his eyes on her back. "You did something good for us, Layla," he stated. "You don't have to think you didn't just because she's an unappreciated brat."

And immediately after saying so, he took his leave, rushing off in hopes of catching up to his younger sister.

Layla kept to herself, walking up to the mess in the hallway and the old woman tending to the small scratches on a young maid's palms. She crouched down by the women and smiled lightly. "Are you well?"

The maid nodded, though the tears in the rims of her eyes said differently.

"It may have been too selfless on your part to bring two strangers into this household," the old woman stated, her voice raspy and cold. "Your kindness has been for naught."

"I might have been trying too hard."

"Learn, milady," the old woman said, padding away the blood from the girl's palm. "Not everyone will appreciate the things you've done. Your father would have never approved of such actions to start and because you've been left behind for your health, you should consider taking better care of yourself rather than others."

Layla straightened out and walked past them. "I'll be in my room."

"Would you like something a snack?"

She shook her head. There was nothing she wanted right now.

Entering her room, she lifted her gaze from the floor while leaning back against the door, keeping her hands behind her back. She looked through the slightly opened drapes and then took in her surroundings, eyes landing on the flowers sitting all around the room. She forgot to tell the maids to throw them out, but when she saw them decorating her bedroom…she thought them to be perfect in every way.

-:-:-:-:-

The floral arrangements were the first thing she saw upon awakening, followed by the sweet smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of retreating footsteps.

Layla lifted her head from the comfort of her pillow, following the scent to the small table besides her bed with a note leaning against it. Mia had a tendency of dropping notes rather than doing her job and waking her up on time, not that she minded oversleeping. At times, she felt too lethargic for her own good, and during those…she managed to think of Starrk. Things such as those seemed to drive her out of bed quickly.

She zipped through her morning until nothing interesting came to mind. She attempted to distract herself with a bit of music, but found in difficult to concentrate as the day grew hotter. She ate whole fruit platters and drank plenty of water to keep her from dehydrating because her father always ordered the servants for extra care during the summer.

She sat in the largest room with the windows open, and a fan to keep herself busy while day turned to night.

Mia walked into the room, plopping down next to her while pulling up the skirt of her uniform. "It's so hot!"

"Mia…"

The young girl turned to her with a large smile, forgetting her manners. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"Wouldn't it be hotter outside?"

"The wind's picking up, I'm sure it won't be that bad."

Layla frowned. "Let's go then."

Mia scuttled out of the room joyfully, shouting across the foyer to the older housemaid what Layla had planned before rushing outside to yell at the coachman to get on the carriage. Layla merely watched from the doorway, listening to Mina's quiet sigh.

"One day she will be fired," she commented lightly.

"What makes you say that?"

"I do believe Lord Aizen only hired her temporarily, and he doesn't seem to like her very much."

"You're mistaken, my father doesn't warm up to anyone."

Mina shook her head.

"Lady Layla, the carriage is ready!"

"Excuse me."

"Stay safe, milady."

Layla and Mia took the carriage into the marketplace where there would be plenty placed for them to venture. The young servant was ecstatic once she glanced around the expensive shops, before Layla led her inside to browse. There were plenty of things that caught her fancy, though after the auction, she was on a budget. If she spent too much, her father would reprimand her for taking advantage of his fortune—even if that had already occurred with her savings.

They slipped in and out of shops until they ended at the end of street, closer to the Romani Plaza, where the gypsy caravan laid. Layla led Mia to a seat on a bench, where they conversed lightly.

She met with plenty of gossip, preposterous stories centering on her family and their sudden disappearance.

"Well, well, if it aint Layla Aizen."

She stiffened at the sight of the chief, making his way to her. She stood as he mockingly bowed respectfully to her. "Good afternoon, chief."

"I've got a piece of information 'bout the jewels yer sister lost," he commented lightly. "Seems we found a couple witness, we're pursuing leads as we speak."

"That's relieving. I'm glad."

He took a step back, about to depart when a though crossed his mind. "Ah, Lady Layla, if ya don't mind me asking," he began sharply. "There are a couple rumors going 'round saying you were in the Black Market last night."

Mia bolted out of her seat. "She was not."

Shinji glared at the girl. "I wasn't speakin' to ya."

Layla furrowed her eyebrows. "Don't tell me the Scotland Yard is using rumors as a basis for leads nowadays?"

"Not all rumors are fibs."

"We do not partake in illegal activities, Chief, do understand that." She turned to her servant. "Mia, let's go, I'd like to return home now."

She moved past the blond man, holding her head up high, to avoid further questioning. She might have slipped if her persisted, blurted everything out like word vomit.

"They're getting audacious by day!" complained Mia.

Layla looked over her shoulder, Shinji had returned to the street leading to the outskirts of town and into gypsy territory. Her curiosity to visit the caravan nearly slipped her judgment. Even if she wished, she knew her welcoming would become acidic too quickly.

"The coach should be—where is he?" Mia held her head when they reached a crossroads. She searched the roads diligently, turning to Layla desperately. "Please wait her, milady, I'll go search for him and bring him by the knickers if I must."

"M—"

The girl scurried away, leaving her with words in her mouth. She followed Mia with her eyes until she disappeared in a throng of people.

She sighed deeply.

"Good afternoon, miss."

She jolted, whipping around to see an auburn-haired gypsy standing behind her. The woman smiled lightly with her cut lips, her green eyes twinkling as bright as the gold decorations around her neck. She was older, possibly around her father's age, with little wrinkles around the creases of her eyes and lips.

Layla stumbled back cautiously. Many gypsies did tend to steal, especially those who approached solitary nobles in the middle of an empty street. She took precautions, though all she had to offer were the clothes on her back.

"Good afternoon." She nodded uncertainly, hoping to make up an excuse instead of rudely walking away.

"Would you a reading, darling? I can tell you what your future holds with a simple look into your palm." Her smile sweetened. "How 'bout it?"

"I'm sorry, I don't believe in fortunetelling."

"I do very accurate readings young lady, you will not regret it."

She gave it some thought, but held out her hand with a hint of reluctance. The woman steps forward, peering into her open palm, lost and calculating. She is unmoving, and never reaches out to touch her hand, only stares deeper.

The feelings bubbled in her belly as she expected the worst outcome—even if she disliked fortunetelling.

The older woman blinked with finality and their eyes meet for a mere second. "There is much for me to pick apart from," she began quietly, tentative about touching her hand. "The most accurate reading of your future would be a journey, a long one with strife and decadence, but it is necessary for the development in here." She gestured towards her chest, and shortly after to her head. The golden bands around her wrist jangled loudly. "The ending of your tale is quite fulfilling."

It was difficult to digest considering she barely understood a thing. "That sounds…inviting."

Their eyes meet once more, and she feel nervous. "Is there anything in particular you wish to know?"

Layla remained silent, looking at the creases in her palm while considering the perfect question. She could humor the woman with silly, trivial matters, but she wanted to know something deeper. It was the only inquiry in her mind.

"I lost my mother…over ten years ago…" She paused, shutting her eyes tightly. "I—I wonder if she's doing well, wherever she may be, c-can you tell me that?"

The woman merely glances at her palm. "Your mother is well," she said, closing her palm. "She thinks of you every day."

All the mushy emotions boiled over at the thought. The gypsy could have lied and she would never have a care in the world believing her mother was well.

She reached into her handbag, pulling out a few coins to pay for the reading when the gypsy held her hand up to stop her.

"There is no need for you to pay me," she said seriously. "I hardly told you a thing."

"Well, can you tell me something else…? To merit payment?"

"What is it, dear child?"

"Will I ever meet her again?" She placed her hand in front of the gypsy, who peered into it.

"You will," the woman said. "Very soon and quite indirectly."

Layla pushed the coins into the woman's fragile hands. "Please take this."

"Lady Layla, I found the bastard in a pub!"

She whipped around, bustling towards her servants. "A pub?"

"I'm sorry, milady."

She stopped suddenly, looking over her shoulder in search of the woman, but she was gone.

* * *

**x L i l i m: **I wish I had a more attractive chapter to offer as Chapter 10, but this is what I managed. There are plenty of things going on in this chapter that will probably be explained throughout the series-actually, some are taken into account within the next few chapters. Sigh-I'm tired.

Well, thank you to those who reviewed the previous chapter, and I know I always say, "I swear I'll reply back!" and end up chickening out...well, I'll do my best this time. Excuse my horrible social skills. :( I am really thankful for every review, alert, and favorite. Just knowing someone reads makes my day. :3 -Darn, I'm taking up space.-

Here's a short preview from Chapter 11, which may be short.

-:-:-:-

Shinji began dragging her down the street. "We'll talk about the damn watch after you tell me everything you know about Horace Watson and your connection to Layla Aizen."

"Wait, wait, wait, you know them?" asked Roxanne, still tugging at her arm.

"I know 'bout everyone."

"Why do you think I have some sort of connection to them?"

"If ya don't, yer lying," he replied.

"I don't have any—" Roxanne suddenly cut herself off, still feeling angry about Layla's involvement and about everything else she had to undergo because of her which changed her mind. "Actually, I think I can tell you a thing or two about them."

-:-:-:-

Thank you for reading. :3

P.S. Those who voted for this story, you guys are awesome. :)


	11. Drowning in Gold

**Masquerade**

Chapter 11

- _**Drowning in Gold **_-

_Like the deepest wound_

_On the deepest plane,_

_There is a gift for all to behold._

**Romani Plaza**

Roxanne hardly bothered turning back or feeling even a cinch of appreciation for having been saved her from Watson's debt. Above all she was angry because Layla had audaciously decided she needed her help when she obviously didn't. Whatever situation she ended up, she would find a way to make her way out one way or the other. Layla was the last person she wanted to see. It's her fault everything went wrong. It's her fault her father's dead and her mother was gone. No one acknowledged it because they're scared of what would happen if they did, but she wasn't.

She ran straight to the caravan, to return to her comfort and vent her frustrations elsewhere. Maybe when Rye came back she could yell at him some more, teach him a thing or two about selling out to the enemy. He was being controlled by Layla's stupid words; she only knew how to lie about everything and never knew the truth.

She was furious. Angry. Felt betrayed and stupid – there was so much turmoil inside of her to even allow her to have a reasonable thought cross her mind. She hardly paid attention to her surrounds and ended up bumping into everyone until she arrived at the Romani Plaza where from afar she was able to see the colorful tarps of her caravan.

She rushed straight past the water fountain when she bumped into someone on their way out and stumbled back, looking up to see the same police chief she had stolen from. When he looked down at her, he seemed shocked.

"You're that girl…" He trailed off.

"I didn't steal your pocket watch!" she blurted out.

"What?"

"I didn't steal your damn pocket watch!" she repeated.

He blinked. "Why're you even here? Weren't ya sold off?"

She matched his reaction, having forgotten the whole auctioning process. In fact, she had been so drugged that she couldn't remember everything that happened yesterday…or however long ago it was. "What are you talking about?"

"Yer sisters said you were missing."

"I was missing?" she asked, confused.

"Yer into some shady business and it came to bite ya in the ass," he stated, pointing. "Don't lie to me, I aint stupid."

"I was not! You're confusing me for someone else," she said, pushing past him but he reached out to stop her. "Hey!" She whirled around to face him, eyebrows knitted in frustration. She didn't have time to be questioned by some officer when all she wanted was to go home and rest. "I told you I didn't take your pocket watch."

Shinji began dragging her down the street. "We'll talk about the damn watch after you tell me everything you know about Horace Watson and your connection to Layla Aizen."

"Wait, wait, wait, you know them?" asked Roxanne, still tugging at her arm.

"I know 'bout everyone."

"Why do you think I have some sort of connection to them?"

"If ya don't, yer lying," he replied.

"I don't have any—" Roxanne suddenly cut herself off, still feeling angry about Layla's involvement and about everything else she had to undergo because of her which changed her mind. "Actually, I think I can tell you a thing or two about them."

* * *

Pensive and very unlike her usually rambunctious self, Roxanne was perched upon a large flat stone from where she watched the rest of the gypsies dancing in celebration for her and her brother's unprecedented return. Even Hisana did not see it coming, but she was equally jolly for the turn of events and was accompanied by Rangiku. Rye played the music that drew in the crowd to congregate in celebration. At first, before deciding to sit out the merriment, she tired her best to enjoy the clamor and sounds, but nothing she attempted seemed to work. Not that she felt guilty about anything she said to the chief. And her sudden abstraction had nothing to do with meeting that traitor, Layla. She had no reason the think of either her conversation with Hirako Shinji or meeting with Layla after so many years. Rye was still pestering her on the subject, sounding like a broken record without relief. He manages to sneak it into everything, wishing her to speak when she would rather not. What was there left for her to talk? She already spoke enough to Shinji. She told him everything with the exception of a few dirty details.

When she closed her eyes, she could remember the feel of freedom – given back to her – and taste the crispness in the air that set through her body a sense of equanimity. The blond-haired man had led her far from the Romani Plaza where no one would be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. He stopped almost abruptly as they walked through parallel rows of blossoming trees, the wind rustling their clothes as it swept past them and she kept both hands over her head to keep her hair from flailing about. He turned to her, pulling off the hat from his head, his expression serious.

"I'm here ta humor ya, if ya give me good information to pursue, I'll give ya a generous tip," he stated, pulling a small bag from his pocket. He threw it up and caught it, only for her to catch the sound of gold clanking against one another. "Got it?"

Roxanne nodded, more interested in the generous tip than feeling even a trace of guilt for all the things she was about to say. She needed money to help herself and her brother survive in such dangerous environments. Performing on the streets for a living could only make them enough to eat one meal a day, all while Layla was having the time of her life – bathing in tubs full of gold. _This'll teach her…_

"I heard yer the one prowling the streets to give Horace Watson information, that true?" he began straightly.

She shook her head in denial. "No, no, I'm not the one giving anyone information," she lied. "In fact, I never knew that awful man until recently." Roxanne had the perfect words in her arsenal to paint an ugly picture for Layla Aizen's future. The vindictiveness in her mind could easily take control of every nerve in her body and move her accordingly. While soiling Layla's future, she could clear up her own.

Shinji arched an eyebrow. "Liar."

"No, I'm not lying, really," she replied quickly. "And I know everything is pinned against me, but I have never done anything out of order. Ask my brother, Rye. He knows me better than anyone and would agree I have never had anything to do with Horace Watson. It's all _her _fault."

Roxanne would have believed her own words if she were on the other side of the theatrics.

"Who's fault?"

"Layla, the earl's daughter, she was the one who had Horace Watson capture my brother and I," she said desperately, her voice breaking into sharp sobs. Eyes welled with tears, glistening beneath the rays of light reaching her face. "She's _always_ trying to find ways to have us out of her way!"

"Why'd she need to do that?"

"Because we know things about her no one else does and she's trying to silence us," she stated, balling her hands into fists. "She might have already killed us, but she's trying her best to make us suffer."

"Hm." He nodded with disbelief, but regardless threw the small sack of coins at her feet. "Can't say I'm too happy 'bout this information, but it'll do." He took a step back, turning his body from her and placing his hat back over his head. His eyes looked her way, brimming with suspicion, while hers shed the tears teetering from the rims of her eyes. "Yer gypsy friends said Horace Watson had taken ya captive ta sell ya in an illegal auction. How'd ya get outta that predicament?"

"A man bought me," she said, dabbing away the tears from her cheeks. She looked down at the raggedy condition of her clothes – dirty and covered in rips from the times she stumbled. "I waited for the drug to wear off before I could run away…he's probably still looking for me…"

"Did ya know his name? What'd he look like?"

"_Umm_." She thought it through carefully; making it seem as though she trying hard to remember what she did not hear. All she heard was Layla's name in her sleep and another…_but, what was it?_

Shinji looked impatient, bombarded with work and having to run around in circles – having a lying gypsy giving him information only added onto his irritation.

Then she remembered the stranger's named. "Starrk! That's what they called him."

It was then that Shinji's frown turned into a confident smile. "Ya don't say…?"

The lies were easier for her to utter and act out than tell the truth. She was saving herself from harm. Who cares about who it took to get away from it? It was so easy for her to catch the chief's attention, without having it dwindle a second longer, but the simplicity came when he made her an offer too generous for her to refuse. A coalition between the two, he would hire her to get him information on Horace Watson – for starters – before moving up the chain and he would pay her.

Roxanne figured, that a week after that meeting, her abstraction was a result of that offer. It was beyond anything Horace Watson had to offer her. Of course, she borrowed money from him to pay off a debt she had with the town's doctor when Rye had fallen ill. Then she worked for him, similarly to what she was about to do for Shinji.

"You're hiding something."

With the sound of her brother's soft tone, she jumped out of her reverie.

"What makes you say that?" she lied, looking at him with a sneer.

"You seem brooding and guilty," he affirmed. "You didn't even join in the celebration and ignored everyone who talked to you."

"I have nothing to say to anyone."

"Why?" he asked, plopping down at her side.

Roxanne shrugged.

The two fell into silence.

"Why did you get mad at Layla?"

She rolled her eyes at the sound of her name and bolted out of her seat, walking away from her brother.

* * *

**One Week Later**

The officials had surrounded and closed off the area off after a frazzled woman showed up at their door, iterating the sight she had seen on her walk past the large area. It was like nothing they had ever come across, sights that younger members of their department resulted to queasy to proceed and left to empty the contents of their stomach, but Hirako Shinji and Muguruma Kensei stood in place. The latter inspected the murder, nose scrunched up in disgust even while holding a handkerchief over his nose. Shinji had done the same. There was no smell out there that could compare to that of a freshly murdered flesh other than the decaying sort – which was known to make his stomach churn unceremoniously. Whoever had committed the crime was crafty and obviously sick in the head considering the position the dead man was found in.

Hung by his hind legs on a lamppost with blood still pulsating out of his open veins and eviscerated remains. Once it was taken down, he asked Kensei to take care of looking over it, profile the dead man, and find a clue. Anything would help them with the sudden turn of events, but the ominous feel had yet to relinquish.

"What the hell is this?"

Shinji's attention had been drawn away by the thick musk of perfume in the air, but when Kensei had spoken, he turned to look at him. He held a pearl necklace between his fingers, thought it was stained with blood.

"Where'd ya find that?"

Kensei did not bother responding, only went back to passing a hand over the man's chest with a gloved hand, but instead of sitting upon something hard and cold it sunk down. He could not find words to express his shock and undid the man's waistcoat and the bloodstained shirt. Something glinted brightly when the sun hit it ever so slight and Shinji peered over his shoulder to see a gaudy amount of jewelry stuffed inside the disemboweled carcass. Kensei dug his hand inside and pulled a handful of jewelry out.

"This looks like the jewelry that was reported missing recently."

"Well I'll be damned."

* * *

**Aizen Manor**

Layla wandered about the manor, corridor to the next, from balcony to balcony, to eventually roaming around the garden. There was not much to do without anyone around and she did not have the privilege of following after her family because of poor health. They were pretexts to leave her in London while her father and brother continued their dirty meddling without an opposing party. She was bored at the end of each day, sending invitations to Duchess Rovina to have company, but each came back with a formal apology – excuses that involved spending time with her husband in order for things to work. There was no time for friendships in a marriage standing on a thread, but who was she to know. Locked away in a manor did not allow her to experience life at its fullest, nor learn from it. She only knew the hardship of having faced the loss of a mother, who she could not recall. Whose caresses or voice she could not remember, but deep down inside she figured her mother's touch was gentle and loving. And her voice would always be sweet when speaking to her. And it would be exactly like her dreams. The moments undeniably precious and the distance would not matter.

Sitting back in the drawing room adjacent to her chambers, against the couch facing the window while drinking tea, her mind filled with boredom. There was nothing to do. Even playing a few songs on her piano had become a bore.

She lifted her gaze up to the open window, feeling the light breeze caress her cheeks.

If she walked around town, she might come across bad company. But even that seemed a lot more interesting than just sitting around doing nothing all day. Though the long week had not been too depressing, Rye came by the manor three days back to thank her properly by giving her a box full of gold bracelets and emerald embedded necklaces which had always been precious to him and Roxanne. Of course the dark-haired woman had no knowledge of what he had done, or else she would storm right up her doorstep and demand the jewelry back.

_Ugh, even that would be exciting._

A small rasp disrupted her thoughts and she turned to the door. "Come in." She leaned over and set her cup of tea on the table as the door clicked open.

"Milady, more flowers have arrived."

She reclined in her seat, watching the woman bring a bouquet of daffodils into the room. "Who sent them?"

"They are from the only man brave enough to send you such flowers," the older woman commented with a smile.

"What are these for?" she asked, figuring it was only kind of her to ask before denying the gesture when the door opened and to her chagrin, Starrk entered.

"These are for my intrusion," he answered, taking the flowers from the woman with a curt nod.

"I thought I mentioned not liking flowers."

"I still think that's a lie, Layla." He placed the daffodils in front of her, expecting her to take them, but she only turned away.

"Do you expect me to forgive your unwelcoming with a bouquet of flowers?" Layla picked up her cup of tea and took a sip.

Starrk plopped down next to her with the flowers on his lap. "I'd offer you better gifts had I knowledge of what you like."

"You won't please me with gifts," she replied, taking another sip.

"Oh well, I tried," he muttered, making himself comfortable. "The ride here was uncomfortable."

"Then don't bother riding here," she remarked smartly. "It's that simple, Starrk."

"My sister says the same thing," he said. "It's such a bother."

"Your sister is right," she replied. "It might do you some good to _listen _to her from time to time."

Starrk nodded. "At times it's best to ignore her."

"I do think you're mistaken, now would be the perfect time to listen to her because there is no need for you to bother visiting." She placed her tea back on the table. She shook her head and looked to him. "Actually, to what do I owe the _honor_ of your presence?"

"It's funny, really, I was passing by you see—"

"People like you don't normally pass by." She rolled her eyes.

He smirked, amused. "I frequent the area," he admitted. "There are plenty of spots here that I prefer to spend time in."

Layla nodded slowly. "Very well, fine, but how does visiting my manor fit into all that?"

"I like the décor."

She arched an eyebrow. "Really? Is that all, Starrk?" she asked cynically. "You come here, as intrusive as you are, bearing gifts and all, because you like the décor?"

"It's welcoming."

"All homes are entitled to be welcoming, that's how they are designed."

"I had no idea you understood décor."

"It's common sense." She turned away slightly. "Are you leaving any time soon?"

"If you don't mind, I'd prefer to stay until I built up enough nerve to ask you…" He trailed off and shut his eyes for a mere second. "Never mind."

Layla stood up. "I'll have tea served."

"You don't need to bother, I don't like tea."

"Then I'll have wine, liquor, juice, whatever we may have in the kitchen to have you accommodated as quickly as possible until you leave," she retorted by the doorway. "I'm still very opposed to you staying here to start, having the audacity to visit while my family is away, for your own perversion! I bet that's why." It was impossible to stop the verbiage as it spewed from her lips. She had taken one step out the door with that final reproach but immediately after whirled around to face him with a good share of animosity. "Why are you here? Are you set on torturing me by creating some sort of scandal personally planned by your family? Is that it?"

"The rumors are already present, there's no need for you to worry if they were done purposely or involuntarily," he remarked lightly.

Her anger flared. "You're doing this on purpose!" she stated. "What kind of response is that? It's incriminating and so am I for receiving you in this home." It was nonsense, her brain called it, yet for some reason she felt a need to say everything in order to defend her family's honor. If she did not, that would mean she was not worthy of her noble lineage – though that was a complicated story itself. "You're manipulating me, aren't you?"

He laughed. "You're spewing nonsense? What would I gain from manipulating you? Honestly."

She was left with words in her mouth. Balling her hands into fists, she concluded it would be cowardly of her to stand down from a simple argument. "How would I know what sort of things you're plotting by getting close to me? I don't read minds, Starrk."

"But I commend you on that imagination of yours, it's quite amusing."

She pursed her lips. "Are you calling me crazy?"

"It's always a possibility with us Luisenbarn," he replied sardonically.

"Oh, shush," she said, turning away. "Call me crazy, fine. You just sit still, you pathetic man."

Layla left Starrk to mumble to himself while she walked out of the room for someone to bring more drinks and pastries. She ran into one of the younger maids who had gone around cleaning and ordered everything. Then she returned back to the room to see Starrk slumped over his seat, necktie loosened and vest undone. His eyes were closed and his breathing seemed leveled.

With a bothered sigh, she took her previous seat and slumped down beside him. She glanced his way. "I understand why you seem to like the décor…"

* * *

By the time Starrk woke up from a comforting nap, Layla had been picking at the same piece of strawberry cake while drinking milk tea. Her eyes were glued to the world outside her window as her mind lingered on various subjects. She set aside the plate in her hands and got out of her seat, feeling the man shift at her side. She looked his way to see him stir from his slumber and rub his eyes.

"How gentlemanly-like Starrk, falling asleep in the house of young woman?" she commented sarcastically.

"I've been exhausted, excuse me." He rubbed his somnolent eyes, letting out yet another yawn. "It was a nice change having to sleep in a room."

She whipped around in disbelief. "Have you gone senile? Why would it be a nice change to be here when you can have something much better in your manor?"

"Due to rumors in the market, my grandfather thought it fitting to throw me out of the house."

She snorted. "And you're seeking refuge in my home? This would only complicate your situation?"

"My options are quite limited," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "I'm stuck here until the next boat to Spain."

"I must say, that's the smartest thing I ever heard you say." She looked back out the window. "When is the next boat?"

"A month from today," he answered with a sigh.

"You don't plan to visit every day during that month, do you?"

"I doubt I would manage enough spending money to buy flowers for every intrusion," he replied. "I'd be left on the street."

"This is a pity story, isn't it?" she asked, disbelieving.

The type of rumor going around town about them would probably earned them quite an earful from the family heads, but being thrown into the street without money would be too cruel a punishment. Secret liaisons between enemies were usually severed or confronted at best. It had happened before between the families, when her father had yet to join their ranks with one of the daughters of Barragan Luisenbarn and one of Genryūsai Yamamoto's nephews. The severity of that secret affair had nearly ruined the power the two families had over their corresponding boundaries – rumors had taken it too far that resulted in various consequences. It was nothing new, but the same danger it held back then, doubled over the last twenty years since.

Still, whatever Starrk was spouting could go either way: lie or truth. There was no telling since she hardly knew the man, but he was painfully blunt. Above all more interested in sleeping than anyone she has ever known.

He shook his head in response to her inquiry. "I hate lying."

"Really?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Remembering every lie is bothersome, you could slip at any moment and ruin everything built around it."

She nodded. "Well that's true."

Layla walked around the room, watching him as he straightened out.

"Feel free to enjoy some of the pastries, I recommend the banana cake." She pointed towards the cake sitting alone at the top of the silver display; beneath it was a mix of chocolate and strawberry cake, along with the carrot cake slices at the bottom of the tray.

Starrk reached forward, taking the banana cake, setting it on a small plate. He took a piece from it to taste it while Layla rejoined him at the couch.

She poured a cup of milk tea for him and placed it in front of him. "Where are you staying now?"

"Everywhere." He pulled the teacup to his lips and took a sip.

"Don't you have any other family members near to go to?"

"Because it's a vacation, everyone's staying in the same place," he replied.

"That seems problematic," she responded, drinking more tea. "I wish you the best of luck, sir."

There was a brief silence between them that went on for a good while as the two resumed picking at the cakes prepared for them while sipping on sweetened tea.

"I'm not too fond of sweets."

Layla let out a defeated sigh and set her empty teacup on the table. "There is no pleasing you." She got out of seat and headed for the door, turning once she placed her hand on the handle. "Stay as long as you wish."

Starrk arched an eyebrow, confounded.

* * *

Layla attempted to practice on the ivory keys of her piano in order to pass time from then to dinner. Mina, the old woman in charge of her while Orihime was gone, would fetch her once everything was ready. She said dinner would be prepared to the best of their ability because Starrk was present – natch, they believed he was a secret lover and she humored them by not rejecting their assumptions. It seemed insulting to be lumped together with the enemy, but amusing to watch.

She flipped through sheets of music idly. She owned plenty of different sorts, from famous composers and a few unknowns, along with one composition of her own. But her own skill in creating music was dwindling; she was only good at copying others. The sad truth of what she thought would be the only thing she would be good at. Pity, the likelihood of reaching such merit required a lot more practice and determination.

With a sigh, she picked out the best sheet and set it up before her. There was no need for it, she knew it by memory, but she had a tendency of following along with her eyes.

Pressing the first key, she began her play. Her fingers skillfully gliding from side to side as her eyes followed the music notes in front of her face. The soft melody remained encased by the four walls which kept it from drifting elsewhere, only reaching her ears. The sound bounced off the walls, lingering. But as the notes picked up, she made one mistake after the next until ignoring them did nothing but anger her.

She stopped playing abruptly and pushed herself out of the stool. Her nerves were slowly getting the best of her. Everything that happened seemed to have worked against her rather than helped her move forward. Meeting Rye and Roxanne again was supposed to be different, that was what she perceived beforehand. She expected there would be some sort of argument that would eventually be settled by time. Rye was set on proving her innocence in their misery, but Roxanne was obstinate. She was strong willed and eager to have Layla beg for forgiveness for what was done in the past. Vindictive and ambitious, she would do everything in her power to avoid all contact until she could gather enough courage to dispose of her somehow. But the blame she placed on her belonged somewhere else.

Layla never asked to be the daughter of a sociopathic nobleman and a Romani. She never wanted to know the riches that would await her the day she followed behind her father because her interests were situated in travelling and sightseeing, meeting all sorts of people…

The events preceding her arrival to the Aizen manor were things she preferred to keep hidden deep in the back of her mind. The feelings that were thrown about that day were as clear as day, bright like a candle burning and incandescently lighting up an entire room – everyone who felt them would remember them always. Much like carvings on wood, that could only be worn down by age but never vanish. The imprint would always be present.

Her legs felt heavy as a scurrying thought passed her mind, reminding her of the blood staining the dress she wore, slipping between her fingertips – thick and slow as it fell against her skin while droplets landed on her bare feet.

She shut her eyes tightly, her heart fluttering with trepidation. _I have no fault in this—_

A light rasp jolted her back into her senses and she whipped towards the doorway to see Starrk sitting in the nearest couch with his hand near the door.

Her heart skipped a beat from the sudden shock. "How long have you been there?"

"Not very long," he said. "I'm surprised you didn't see me walk in."

"You should have knocked."

"I did," Starrk replied with a nod. "You didn't answer and my knuckles hurt from knocking so hard."

Layla rolled her eyes. "When you gain no response, it means the other person doesn't want to speak to you, let alone find you inside the room."

"It's proper to keep a visitor company at all times."

"You're hardly a visitor, _intruder._" She turned away, fiddling with the keys on her piano, playing a little tune before pausing. "How long are you planning to stay?"

"How long are you planning to keep me here?" he asked, lifting his gaze.

She nodded with a cynical smile on her face as she picked up her tune where she left off. "I don't believe I'm keeping you here, rather you wish me to do so," she replied loudly. "Your perversion knows no bounds, you awful man."

"You're only implying."

"Oh no, I'm not. It's obvious it's what you want considering you have no place to go and not enough money to keep you fed."

"Don't pity me, milady," he responded seriously. "I don't need to be sheltered; I am very capable of sleeping outside and buying food with what I have."

She scoffed. "What makes you think I pity you?"

"You're under the impression that I came here to somehow feed you this story to have you sympathize with me and ask me to stay with you," he surmised. "When you should really start considering the notion that I may just enjoy your company."

"I-impossible!" she spluttered, stopping the music unexpectedly. "Why would y-_you_ of all people enjoy _my _company? I've been nothing but rude and insufferable—"

"I think it adds all the more excitement to our coincidental meetings." He smirked.

"They're hardly coincidental, stalker."

"I've done you a favor, many times. It's hardly stalking."

Layla shook her head. "No, no, no, the only favor you have done for me took place one week ago. What you speak of were not things I asked for."

"Neither was buying your sister in an auction," he answered pointedly.

Layla's already present frown deepened at a loss for words. "Shush."

He laughed.

Mina entered the room, shortly after knocking and being asked to enter, to inform them dinner was ready.

She stood and headed to the doorway, placing a hand on Starrk's shoulder as she passed. "Come."

"I think you also enjoy my company." Starrk stood up as he placed his claim, causing the auburn-haired woman to snort.

"You're delusional, Starrk."

He walked to her side, taking her and placing it over his arm. "Denial," he said to her.

She jerked her hand away. "Oh, please."

* * *

Starrk remained in her manor much longer than she may have thought proper, but before the clock struck twelve, he walked himself towards the door in her company. Holding a hand over the handle, paused, and turning her way with an inquisitive look etched in his usually passive features. As he looked her way longer than she wanted, in wait of perfect timing, his lips curled up into a confident smile. "Will you be attending the Laxton ball next week?"

Layla blinked, perplexed. "I thought Mayor Laxton opposed the families' presence," she replied. "Do you plan to ruin it?"

"Everyone was invited, except your father rejected the invitation as did Yamamoto, thinking it would be useless for everyone to gather before time."

She arched an eyebrow. "Before time?"

"A month from now, before the departures back to our native lands, the clan heads have scheduled a celebratory gathering – a single day of peace amongst them – for them to reveal the rightful heirs," he explained. "Of course, it will be the first time for your father to present himself before everyone and he is still young to reject presenting an heir because of it."

"You seem to know quite a bit about the families…"

"It is my right to know, as I mentioned plenty of times before."

She nodded. "Would it be intrusive on my behalf to think I would like you to indulge me in all you know?"

"No, it's also in your right," he said. "So, would you be interested in attending?"

"I don't think it would be proper to attend such a place _together_." It would not be in her best interests to accept his invitation, if it even was one, because that would mean people would be getting the wrong idea about their relationship. It did not even merit being called a relationship, they were two very diverse people who hailed from different backgrounds not meant to mix with one another – a chain of events had brought them together, along with an unsated curiosity that had drawn them to one another.

"I won't be accompanying you as a member of the Luisenbarn, but a gentleman of meek importance," he said. "My family has no right to judge my decisions if they want nothing to do with me."

Her heart palpitated expectantly. "You'll have to let me think about it."

He nodded.

Layla smiled, watching him turn the handle when a light knock disrupted the peace between them. She signaled to him open and he did to reveal the revered blond chief, who tipped his hat in greeting while his inhumanely large smile widening at the sight of the enemies.

"Evening," he said cynically, standing at the threshold with his usual company, Rose. "Layla Aizen, Viscount L'Isle. May I come in? I have pending news with both of you."

"I'll have you know my father is not present and I have no right to allow you inside my home," replied Layla sternly.

"That's funny, really," the chief said dismissively. "Ya can't have a man of the law in yer house, but ya have yer doors wide open for yer supposed enemy." He signaled towards Starrk, earning a sharp glare from Layla. "'Course, I aint one to judge an' I'm here on business. So, I'll make this quick for both of ya."

Shinji turned to Rose, who handed him a slip of paper. He held it out to Starrk. "I'm sure you'll recognize the name of the man in that paper."

Starrk looked it over, his expression unchanging, but there was obvious difference between them all – an increase of tension or a sudden deafening silence. He lifted his gaze back to Shinji, handing back the slip of paper. "I don't know a Frederique Cooper."

"I say yer lying."

"I won't object your judgment."

Shinji rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Layla. "Do you know a Frederique Cooper, Layla Aizen?"

She shook her head, a thought slipping her mind. Cooper was the man at the auction house, selling the bids. Admitting to it would incriminate them in some way with that tidbit of information. "I've never heard of him either."

"Liar," Shinji accused. "I could have you both taken in as suspects for Frederique Cooper's grisly death."

"We are not murderers, chief," Layla responded acerbically.

"Don't forget the law implemented to our defense, whatever proof you may have against us, even if you catch us with a bloody knife in hand, you have no right to arrest us," said Starrk.

Shinji gave him a warning look, hating to be chided by a brat. "I know my laws and am not here to ignore them, but I've got a hefty load against the two of ya that might merit overlooking those laws."

"If you're here to threaten me, I'll have every right to ask you to leave."

Shinji shook his head. "Not just yet. I'm also here to give notice on the stolen jewelry reported two weeks from today, by your sister," he looked to him, "and your grandfather."

"Shouldn't you be going to them for this?"

"I hope yer capable of relaying the message. Yer jewelry was found, hidden inside the disemboweled corpse of Frederique Cooper."

Layla nearly gasped but placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself short. It was the first time she had ever heard of such cruelty.

"If that's all you have to say, I'll be leaving first." Starrk turned to the stunned woman with a curt nod. "Sleep well, Lady Layla."

Starrk left out the door, pushing past Shinji and Rose.

Layla composed herself and walked closer to the door, hand on the handle prepared to push it close the minute the officer bid farewell.

A loud whistle resounded through the empty streets, catching the older gentleman's attention and turned to his companion inquisitively. And along with the sounds of reigns and neighing horse, the creak of a moving carriage was quick to disappear in the distance while the gates to the front of her manor were thrown open in desperation.

"Chief!" a young officer called. "Chief! Chief!"

Layla had taken a step forward, attempting to look past the chief and his companion as they pushed through the officers standing at the foot of the staircase. "What the hell's goin' on, West?"

"There was another body reported – Horace Watson was found dead submerged in a lake full of gold coins!"


	12. A Splash of Color 1

**Masquerade**

Chapter 12

- _**A Splash of Color 1 **_-

_Dripping slowly from each fingertip,_

_Falling gracefully like raindrops,_

_Staining the green earth beneath them_

_And hoping water could wash it all away_

**Station**

Shinji sat in front of his desk, accompanied by his two trusted officers, Rose and Kensei. He thought about the things Roxanne mentioned about Layla having done plenty of under the table businesses with Horace Watson, but now that he and his companion had been found dead, the information he had received seemed useless. He could easily threaten to slit Watson's throat to get him to talk, but that was not something he could do with either Layla Aizen or the Viscount L'Isle. They had everything he would need to know to end this case, but he couldn't force either one to speak.

"This leaves us with no leads…" Rose muttered by the corner, "again."

"Shaddup," came Shinji's snappy response. _Where else would two dead bodies lead us anyhow?_

"We have suspects we can make use of," said Kensei, fiddling with the drapes in the window.

Shinji turned to the man and pointed at him menacingly. "You shut up too."

Kensei merely rolled his eyes while Rose let out a defeated sigh.

"There's no need for you to throw a tantrum, Shinji."

"It's chief, for you Otoribashi," he corrected pointedly. "I aint lettin' any of ya live it down if I can't send at least one of those bastards to jail."

"No one's stopping you," Kensei said smartly.

Shinji looked back to him. "I thought I told ya ta be quiet, Kensei."

"Yeah, yeah, no need for you to get any snappier."

The chief dropped his feet from his desk to the ground and pushed his body off his chair. He took his hat from the corner of his messy desk as he walked around it towards the door, when it opened. And in walked Love with a hand full of new papers that needed his signature.

"Another one was found dead," said Love. "I just got the report from one of the guards outside."

"Hasn't even been a week and there's already been another?" asked Rose, pulling up a chair from the smaller desk and sitting down. "It seems these people have picked up the pace."

"Three within two weeks," Kensei said, lifting his gaze. "Whose family did this one belong to?"

Love looked through the reports in his hand. "Alfred Bennett, benefactor is Yamamoto."

"The one in the trading business?" asked Shinji, earning a nod from Love. "That asshole kicked me outta his house two months ago."

"You forget to mention you were very deserving of that action, chief," Rose replied.

Shinji glared at him.

"How was this one found?" Kensei questioned.

Love stared at him for a while. "…Dead."

Kensei rolled his eyes.

"Kensei, Love, go out to the site and have a look," Shinji ordered, returning to his seat. "Stay and question whoever it was who found the body and any other witnesses, even the guards. When the body is removed, come back to me."

The men in question nodded and headed out the door single file, shutting the door behind them and leaving their superiors in peace.

"Mighty bothersome these time are becoming, aint they?"

Rose nodded. "It is relieving to know, they were all people we had charges against."

Shinji shook his head with mild reluctance. "All the accusations filed against them just go cold, there's no way for us ta justify them, but _damnit_! I should have known havin' all three families present would lead to this sorta thing."

* * *

**Luisenbarn Vacationing Home**

He was given the boot because of the lies being spread in the streets by nobles with nothing better to do. However, it was his fault. Starrk came to terms with that. He also failed to deny the accusations his grandfather had for him, not that he saw any reason to do so. Barragan should know what kind of person he was, accusing him of such things would not get him anywhere. Nevertheless, that was not the reason why he suddenly returned to their manor. He came back after Barragan sent Ggio to fetch him for answers on the deaths of Horace Watson and Frederique Cooper, who were great assets to their family. He had no answers, just the same amount of shock on his face as the day he figured it out.

So, there he sat behind a large desk, legs propped up over the surface as her reclined against the comfortable chair, under his grandfather's strict orders. Wondering what other verbiage Barragan had left to spout during the next round he made around the manor. No time to sleep, he said, no time to walk around the town. And while the restrictions were made, he secretly hoped to find a way out of the room to go on a short walk. Maybe he could bump into Layla, and then his day might lighten up a bit, and maybe, just maybe she had a response to his invitation.

_But slacking off's good too,_ he figured.

Starrk shot a glance at the papers sitting on the desk, those he piled onto one another when he pushed them out of the way. It was business his grandfather had to settle, concerning that Duke they recently decided to aid. He pledged loyalty to their family in order to receive some sort of protection, but he had yet to prove the lengths of his vow.

The door opened noisily and Barragan stepped inside, followed by Ulquiorra and a few other members of his family. A long-haired woman and a tall, lanky man with dark hair walked after them while the guards shut the door.

"Welcome back," said Starrk, bored, looking past his grandfather to Ulquiorra and the woman, "Ulquiorra, Neliel."

"As fucked up as ever, aint ya, Starrk?" the dark-haired male commented with a scoff.

Starrk ignored even that, turning to Barragan instead. "What do you want?"

"Find out who killed them, that's what I want."

"I'm busy, ask Ulquiorra to do it."

"They're your responsibility," the old man stated. "Ulquiorra, Neliel, and Nnoitra will be under your orders."

Starrk put his feet down and straightened out a bit. "Three people is enough."

"Starrk, just accept it," Neliel said softly.

"I'd rather avoid this nonsense," Ulquiorra stated, averting his gaze.

Nnoitra's anger flared. "Ya gotta problem with me, asshole?" He took a threatening step forward, but Neliel placed a hand over his arm to stop him. He jerked it from her. "Don't fuckin' touch me!"

Ulquiorra closed his eyes.

"Don't be so—"

"Shut the fuck up, Neliel!"

Fed up by the sudden increase in volume and stupidity, Starrk got out of his seat.

"Where's Lilynette?" he asked, walking around his desk while heading towards the door.

"Practicing," Neliel answered.

Starrk nodded and purposely pushed past Nnoitra on the way out, throwing more wood on the flame. "What the fuck's yer problem?"

He didn't bother regarding them any longer. There was no need for him to feel as though he should be helping his family. He did not have the valuable information they sought, or the drive to acquire it. If Barragan needed something done, he only needed to ask Ulquiorra and it'd be done in a week. People trusted doctors.

The deaths were too suspicious for his liking. The coins found with Watson's body were the ones he sent to him for the purchase, anonymously of course. It seemed incriminating, like a threat against them, and he was already on Barragan's last nerve, one slip meant severe punishment – it wasn't frightening, just ludicrous.

_Why do I have to do all the work?_

Starrk reached the end of the hall and headed up the staircase to pay a visit to Lilynette, and possibly relieve her of having to practice for so long.

Once on the second floor, he could hear the fine tune of the violin and the strict corrections her teacher was giving her.

"Hold it up higher; the sound is muffled."

"I'm holding it high enough already!"

"You're distorting the sound, young lady."

Starrk pushed the door open and stepped inside, looking up at the stern older woman who bowed. "Can you leave us alone?"

She nodded and scuttled out the door, letting it shut behind her. Lilynette was setting aside the instrument in her hands, a large frown on her face, displeased.

"Wanna take a walk around town?"

Lilynette bustled up to him, holding her dress by the hem before kicking him as hard as she possibly could, making him groan in pain.

"Now you wanna spend time with me, traitor!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been spending all your time with _Layla_."

"I'm asking you out for a walk, not her." He was still rubbing his leg with a furrowed brow.

Lilynette narrowed her eyes menacingly. "Only if you ignore her if we run into her!"

"Only if I ignore her?"

Lilynette nodded.

"Why do you want me to ignore her?"

"She's Aizen's daughter, _our _enemy?"

"Aizen is your grandfather's enemy, not mine." He shrugged.

"Not yet," she corrected. "Just wait for the old man to croak and you'll be the next in line, then what?"

He crouched down in front of her. "Disband the—"

Lilynette balled her hand into a fist and punched him in the face. "You can't do that! You'll be killed – _we'll _be killed, idiot!"

Starrk rubbed his cheek, wondering who taught her how to punch that hard. "It's a lot of work for one person, Lilynette, and I don't want to take part in any of the Luisenbarn's affairs. It's pretty pitiful."

"You should be proud, not brooding and wishing you weren't a part of this family," she stated, grabbing him by the collar.

"But it's boring."

"Deal with it, you're the oldest."

"Neliel's the oldest," he corrected.

"Nell isn't our aunt's daughter."

He arched an eyebrow. "So?"

She let go of him harshly, pushing past him. "It's useless trying to knock any sense into you, stupid Starrk!"

Starrk laughed, straightening out.

"Hurry up and let's go!"

* * *

Kensei and Love arrived to the street where Alfred Bennett's body had been discovered. Both taking in their surroundings, acknowledging the large amount of officers obstructing the streets adjacent to the one they were in. A few were standing in the middle of it, where Kensei saw the town's doctor standing by a woman in an aqua-colored gown, whose face was covered by her hands. There was a brief exchange between the woman and the doctor, where she lifted her face, twisted in horror, to reveal herself as Layla Aizen.

"Why's she here?" Kensei questioned, offhandedly pointing her way.

Love looked to the woman. "You're right."

"Oi," his companion called, reeling in the attention of the officer closest to them. The man greeted them by tilting his head. "Why's Layla Aizen here?"

The officer looked back to her then to the two men in front of him. "Though it seems like too much of a coincidence, Layla Aizen is the one who found it," he said. "And it seems very peculiar that it had been laid out in this street in particular."

"Why's that?"

The man sighed. "You see, the man has her name carved to his chest…"


	13. A Splash of Color 2

**Masquerade**

Chapter 13

- _**A Splash of Color 2 **_-

_We sit in wait_

_Wishing to will it all away_

_But we can't wash the blood off our hands_

_When it slipped through our skin_

_Etched in our beings_

_Forever_

It happened quickly, unexpectedly even. She had only wanted to go on a walk for fresh air. Being cooped up at home could work against her; possibly become more reasons for her father to keep her indoors at all times. She only managed to get through the gate and take a few steps into the streets when she noticed a trail of blood leading her gaze to the corpse of an unfamiliar man. His eyes had been gauged out, clothes torn apart from his chest to reveal the bloody carving of her name, forever etched on another person's body. She could have sworn her heart stopped beating while processing the thought. Her stomach gurgled in apprehension and sunk until she was unable to look any longer.

She fainted.

When she regained consciousness, an older gentleman with musky brown hair and clear blue eyes presented himself as Richard Evans, a doctor. He questioned her thoroughly, but her concentration was off, eyes wildly searching for a sign that confirmed it had all been a bad nightmare. The assurance did not exist, instead her eyes met with the uniformed men of the law.

The doctor confirmed her fear of being singled out, and she was terrified of returning home to her empty manor without reliable guards.

"Layla Aizen, I'd like to ask you a couple questions."

She lifted her gaze, recognizing the man from the time her manor had been robbed. "You are…"

"Kensei," he answered sharply.

She held her head, feeling sick to her stomach.

Doctor Evans walked up to Kensei seriously. "It would be best for you to take your questions elsewhere," he stated. "It is not simple for anyone to come across such a sight and easily overcome it. You may have your answered after the lady has rested." He reached out to her, taking her by the hand and lifting her out of her seat. "Come milady, I'll escort you home."

She placed a gloved hand over her mouth, replaying the scene—remembering the blood, her name etched into flesh, and the whites of his eyes. She was supported by the doctor, all the way to the carriage that had brought him to the scene and until he had kept his word of escorting her home.

Layla wanted to drop into bed, to find reason to avoid thinking of the grisly death, or to somehow overcome it. _How can I? I'm not so strong that I can just…forget something so…_

"Rest easy, Lady Layla," Doctor Evans said as he departed.

.

.

.

.

.

She blinked, confounded. Mia, the golden blond came into view, her worried eyes staring down at her while Mina rubbed her temples and called her name lightly.

"Will she be okay?"

"Where am I?" she questioned disoriented.

_I was just…_

"You're home, milady, Doctor Evans brought you back," replied Mina. "He suggests you rest as much as possible, the fright will pass."

Layla felt around her coverlet, curling up underneath it, and pulling it over her head. "I'm afraid."

Mia and Mina exchanged worried glances.

"I'm terrified." Her heartbeat accelerated. "What if I am killed?"

"Don't say such things, milady!" hushed Mina. "We'll send a letter to your father, as soon as possible!"

She bolted onto a seat. "What can he do when he's miles away?"

Mia seemed at a loss of words, but Mina relented. The older woman brushed hair out of her face, relaxing her back into bed with sweet nothings, treating her like an oversized child. Normally, actions such as those vexed her, but at the moment, she wanted to be coddled. She needed to drown in affection, even if it was empty—_anything, just please take this image out of my head_.

"Mia, go."

"Yes."

* * *

**Two Days Later**

**Aizen Manor, Morning**

Starrk had given Layla enough time to consider a response to his invitation, and presented himself at her home as soon as he woke up. He could have waited until afternoon, there were so many documents sitting on his desk that needed revisions and filing, but he left that sort of work to his grandfather. If the old man needed him for anything, it would be an emergency. When that happens, he'll follow orders, but until then, he would vex Layla for an answer.

After climbing the final step, he looked down at his empty hands. He forgot to buy flowers for his next intrusion. He turned back when the door opened.

"It's you, viscount."

He looked over his shoulder to see Mina, the older servant in charge of babysitting Layla. Her expression seemed distant.

"Is something wrong?"

"Our lady has fallen ill," she answered dejectedly. "She hasn't been eating well either."

"Should I leave? Is it a bad time?"

She shook her head. "Please, I'm sure she would enjoy the company, milady doesn't have many friends. I'm quite happy you came, viscount."

He nodded lightly, walking past the woman on her way out. She shut the door behind him, leaving the empty manor at his disposal—not that he planned to destroy/conquer/obliterate any part of it. The fact that they seemed too trusting of him, both warmed him up, and made his stomach churn in apprehension. He was garnering all that unnecessary attention Lilynette always talked about, the good reputation included.

He climbed the staircase and followed the long hallway to Layla's chambers. He didn't need to walk far to find them, when her exuberant blond servant greeted him. "Layla's pretending to be asleep, so don't worry if she doesn't say anything."

"That's fine."

"I'll come back with tea." She bustled past him.

"Earl Grey, if you don't mind."

She nodded. "I'll come right up."

Starrk stood in front of her door for a while before rasping his knuckles against the wood, out of courtesy. He waited patiently for a response, even if he waited a year it would never come. And so, with a quiet murmur, he walked inside.

The windows were wide open, letting in the warm pre-summer air, but the drapes around her canopy were pulled to shade the bed. He could see from the doorway, her curled body underneath her blankets while her auburn hair lay askew behind her in shallow, but messy waves.

He approached her after shutting the door, taking noticed of her pallid skin, a sickly pale unlike the usual ivory. He heard the creak of her bed with every shallow movement, and worsened the noise by plopping down at the edge of it.

As if instinctively, Layla scooted away from him.

"What ails you, Layla?"

She shifted numerously, changing positions for her comfort. When she settled onto her side, she turned her head an inch, just enough to see him looking back at her. "Why are you here?"

He commended her way with words. She had the right amount of mordant counteraction to turn away any man within seconds, but he wasn't one to fall prey to her mind games. He had grown accustomed to her mannerisms and snappy retorts, enough to continue his pursuit of a better understanding of the woman. She was the enigmatic daughter of Earl Aizen, precious and refined. There was more to her than that placid exterior, than all the rumors combined, she was sensible, and extremely cranky.

"You never gave me a response," he answered, brushing aside his thoughts. "Considering your current state, you may be unable to attend."

She turned away, nestling between her pillows. "You assume correctly."

"What kind of illness do you have?"

"I am only…exhausted."

The pause had him overanalyzing, almost instinctively. _Did I do something…?_

"You don't only seem tired, you—" He cut himself off in order to prevent unnecessary prying. "I heard you haven't been eating."

"I'm not too hungry."

They lapsed into silence. He felt genuine concern, but she would never let him help her.

A quiet knock shifted his attention from tipping over, and Mia walked in with a tray. She set the tea at the table next to Layla's bed, preparing it into two matching cups, and slipping the tray underneath hear arms after handing Starrk his tea.

"Would you like anything else?"

Starrk took a sip from the tea, looking at her with a sour expression. He hated earl grey, but heard Layla enjoyed it. "An assortment of shortcake, if you can, or any other type of sweets," he decided.

"Right away," called Mia, bolting out of the room excitedly.

He shot another glance at Layla, resting his teacup on his lap. "Do you prefer strawberry or blueberry?"

"You don't like sweets, Starrk."

He couldn't see her face from that angle, but noticed how she exposed the nape of her neck when she brushed aside her tresses. "But you do, so I'll make the effort."

"I'm not hungry."

He frowned. "Answer the question."

"I like peach," she said reluctantly.

"Peach wasn't an option."

She sighed, bothered. "But I like peach."

"Choose from the given."

She remained quiet, and he waited patiently for a response.

"Both, to an extent." She turned her body to face him, her covers still hid the bottom half of her face, but he could see the dark circles underneath her eyes. "But why are we talking about cake?"

He ignored her question, indirectly hoping to arouse her interest in eating. "What do you like about it?"

"I enjoy sponge cake."

"What about it?"

She sunk further underneath her covers. "I don't know…"

"There must be something you specifically like about it."

"It's good."

"Is that all?"

"Well, I like the whipped cream…"

"With the sponge cake?"

"I like it separately."

"Then you like the whipped cream, not the sponge cake." He looked down at his tea, cringing at the sight.

"Don't put words in my mouth," she snapped. "I like it together, the tastes are multiplied, and the natural fruits are the added bonus."

"Is that all?"

She let out a frustrated sigh while rolling her eyes. "Why are we talking about cake?"

He stared at her. "What else can I talk to you about?" he asked. "You can't tell left from right. If I compliment the weather, you won't know what I'm talking about because you're just lying in bed."

"That has nothing to do with you." She hid behind her coverlet. "You can always find other things to use as material for conversation."

"Really, like what?"

"I don't know…the weather," she blundered.

"See."

"Shut up, you're vexing me. Don't visit if you have nothing to talk to me about."

"But I do, I came to learn your response for my invitation, I only failed to bring it up correctly because you're in this state." He took another sip of the tea.

"Good, I don't want to attend a ball with a bunch of haughty noble—"

"You're a little snobbish yourself," he interjected.

"I'm not, this is a defense mechanism!"

"You're not, but it's a defense mechanism." He smirked playfully.

She shut her eyes tightly, frustrated. "If you're here to pester me, please leave."

"And if not, am I allowed to stay?"

"Ugh, you're hopeless!"

"Is that a yes?" he asked. "Or do you still abhor my company?"

If she could have hidden any further underneath her blankets, he figured she would have done so. He could see the faint blush on her cheeks. "I don't have to answer that…right?"

His smile widened. "I'd prefer you answered."

She glared at him as best as she could before disguising her hesitation in her reproach. "I _tolerate_ your presence."

"Only tolerate?" He frowned.

"Please don't push it."

"I'll take it as a yes."

"You're doing it again."

"What?" he asked quizzically.

"Putting words in my mouth," she answered.

He smirked proudly.

Mia disturbed them shortly after, dropping off a plate full of different flavored shortcakes, from strawberry to peach, and excused herself.

Starrk stared at her while her gaze was down. He could watch her for days and never get bored, but when she looked back to him, he busied himself. He reached for the banana shortcake, exchanging his tea for it, and began picking at it with a fork. He felt her eyes on him, so he took a bite and savored its taste purposely forcing an innocent gaze to turn into a vicious glare. He openly taunted her; aware she had gone without eating. If child's play could force her into submission, he would feel a weight lift off his shoulders.

"It's good," he commended.

"I thought you didn't like sweets."

"Your recommendation was well placed."

"Hmm."

He cut a piece from the cake and gestured the fork towards her. "Would you like a taste?"

She shook her head.

He ate it, savoring it. "It's really good."

"I'm sure it is," she mumbled.

"Come, have a bite." He offered her another piece. She stared at the fork for a good second before agreeing with a nod. She pushed the blanket from her face and opened her mouth. He fed it to her and watched as she chewed it eagerly, relishing its distinct tastes. "Good, isn't it?"

She nodded.

He glanced at the display. "There's a peach-flavored on here, would you like it?"

"Desserts should be eaten after lunch."

She licked her lips, and he felt taunted by her innocent actions. His equanimity declined slowly, but he held back by turning away.

"No one's watching, so it's okay."

Layla shifted in her comfort, struggling to get on a seat. She managed on her own and piled the pillows behind her back with a curt nod. Starrk took the peach shortcake from the display, and handed to her, placing a fork on the chinaware. She took it eagerly, eating as though it had been her first meal.

He watched her while setting down his own cake, still finding sweets a bit distastefully. He took a gulp from the earl gray tea, washing down the sweetness with a tinge of bitterness. When he turned to face her, she had neglected the utensil provided and used her hands, the icing slipping from between her lips.

He felt tempted once again.

She licked her fingers and her bottom lip, missing the whipped cream on her cheek.

He mentally cursed, his body moving on its own. His thumb slid over her lips, cleaning what he could before his hand tangled into her hair. She lifted her gaze, confounded.

"Layla…"

Starrk leaned forward, closing the distance between their lips. Temptation won. He always wanted to kiss her, if only once, even if it meant getting beaten by her as a result. She was his guilty pleasure.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Double update, alas, only because I realized they were too short to post separately, and so here's the treat. I was planning on holding onto them until Saturday, but decided against it while I had free time-and the fact that I was slacking off while writing up the updates to another one of my stories. So, yeah. That's that.

I personally liked the cake conversation...because it was such a strange subject.

Thank you for reading, and hopefully enjoying.


	14. A Splash of Color 3

**Masquerade**

Chapter 14

- _**A Splash of Color 3 **_-

_Give me perceptions,_

_So that the distortions can no longer harm me_

Layla blinked, confounded as Starrk removed his lips from hers. His hand slipped from behind her head to trace along the contours of her face before he removed it completely, and searched for even a hint of a reaction out of her.

She never expected a simple visit would change into something that could sum up a thousand awkward situations into one. She circumvented all thoughts about the act that could so easily be mistaken for something a lot more complicated than a simple kiss.

Starrk stared at her apologetically. "You can hit me if you—"

She slapped him as hard as she could muster. One, for saying something so selfish after putting his lips to her, and second, only because it felt proper to do so at the moment.

"Ow," he whined, rubbing his face.

She turned away for a second; carefully pushing strands of loose auburn locks behind her ears, she looked at him. "You're quite uninhibited, Starrk."

He sat with his back towards hers, hands curled over his knees, and void of expression. He looked to be overanalyzing his actions, unable to bring himself to say anymore than he already had. "I probably shouldn't have."

"I'm not criticizing your actions," she answered, awkward, her face heating up, "nor, am I taken aback by them. I am only surprised that you would be so direct…"

She took notice of how her mind was working in reverse. After telling herself how idiotic and childish it would be to overanalyze the situation, the more nagging the thought became. She had been kissed numerous times by various boys that had been brave enough to attempt courting her. Although, none of them ever managed to sum up enough courage to kiss her lips, but it had occurred previously. She remembered something of that likelihood when she turned sixteen that a boy had greeted her with a peck. It wasn't amorous, and then again, neither was this…_was it_?

"Would you like some tea?" He offered her his cup.

"Yes, of course." She reached for it, and took a long sip. She let it rest on her lap when her curiosity to pursue his reason for kissing her made her tip the cup too far. The liquid spilled over her leg. "Damnation incarnate!"

She jolted out of bed, stumbling onto the ground before the tea burned her leg further. Starrk attempted to salvage the liquid before it spilled, but his attempts proved useless. Instead, he hurried to the other side of the bed to help her up. She had tumbled past the drawn curtain and into the splay of sunlight on the floor.

Layla pulled the hanging sheet over her soiled nightgown before Starrk reached her side. "Are you okay?"

She got to her feet without his help. "I'm fine, I was only burned slightly."

There was a light knock against the door.

"Come in."

Mia entered, glancing around the room until she found the two standing on the other side of her bed. "I heard you curse, milady."

"I spilled the tea," she admitted.

"I'll change the sheets right away." The young woman began pulling apart the bedding and tossing it onto the floor, after removing the cup from the creases.

"Let's head into the other room while the sheets are changed." Starrk took her by the hand.

"You don't have to go through the trouble, I'll be done quickly."

"Take your time," Starrk said, "and have something else prepared for her to wear. She managed to spill some on herself." He placed his hand on her back and moved her over slightly, but she wouldn't budge. "Layla, let's go."

"We don't have to move, do we?"

"Would you prefer I carried you?"

Her face heated up, and she led the way into her drawing room. She pulled apart the drapes and opened the windows wide before plopping down on the smallest couch. She tugged up her nightgown, folding the damp parts and moving them away from her leg.

She watched as Starrk walked around the room.

"Was the invitation the only excuse you had to come?"

He stopped in front of the daffodils adorning the round table, running his fingers against their yellow petals. "No, I have plenty."

"More of your perversion, I take it." She deadpanned.

"To see you, to hear you practice your craft, and possibly find a way to lighten up your dreadful days," he answered coyly.

"You don't know my days are dreadful."

He glanced at her. "You seem miserable."

"I'm not…just very pensive."

"Of what?"

Layla shut her eyes, having forgotten the events that had her lying in bed for so long. The images resurfaced in her mind, and she tried busing herself by fiddling with the strings on her nightgown. "Nothing."

He approached her, staring at her carefully. "Did something happen to you?"

"No…well, yes, but you shouldn't be the person I speak to about this," she blurted incoherently.

He arched an eyebrow. "Is it…personal?"

She was tentative about confiding in him, but it pained her to have kept it inside. If she could at least have one other to speak about the murder, the fear of having been targeted would lesson. "Uhm, no, it's family related."

"Does it concern the deaths…?"

She stayed silent, her heart beating rapidly.

"Something related happened, didn't it?" he persisted, furrowing his brow with concern.

She looked down. "I'm not sure I want to speak of it."

"Did anyone do something to you?"

"Uhm…" She continued fidgeting.

Starrk took a seat on the coffee table in front of her. "It might be better for you to talk about it, rather than let it get to your head."

Layla frowned. "Don't sit on the table!"

"What happened?" he asked again, serious.

He was resilient, and she couldn't avoid it any longer. Prolonging the inevitable seemed like a lot more work than saying the truth. "I found a body a few days ago…"

"Is that chief heckling you?"

"Not yet, I trust," she whispered. "There was a doctor present who told them not to ask anything of me. I fainted upon sight…but—"

"But what?"

She blinked at his sudden change of tone, and her eyes searched for a way out of the situation. "That man had my name carved into his chest," she whispered, so low he only managed to catch her first word.

"What?"

"My name…" she paused, "it was carved into his chest."

It took a minute for him to digest the threat, and the room filled with tension. He got out of his seat, turning to leave when she caught his arm. "What do you intend to do?"

He didn't look at her. "I wouldn't have thought they would audaciously call someone out. It's discerning—"

"What are you saying?"

"You need to avoid questioning."

She stared at him confused, and his eyes met hers directly. So intensely her heart had skipped a beat during such a critical moment. "Why?"

"Because that chief will find ways to pin the crimes on us," he answered straightly.

"How do you know they're not committing them?"

"Our families are their benefactors."

"Then, they're being killed because they are no longer of use?"

"Trust me; no one within the three families is capable of doing such a thing," he said. "At least, that is not the way murders are played out in our families."

"How do I know to trust you?"

He sighed, turning to her fully. "I'm in charge of that half of the work, currently, but most likely permanently."

Layla dropped his hand instantly and stared at him. "You just admitted…to murder…"

"I didn't specify," he answered, rubbing the back of his head listlessly. "I only told you why I knew this."

"That doesn't change the fact that I have a murderer in my drawing room," she whispered harshly.

"I'm not a killer," he corrected. "I follow orders and relay them to the—never mind, I'm only incriminating myself." He paced to the door, before a curt knock disturbed them.

Mia peered inside. "I changed the bed, and milady, a letter came from your father."

Layla bolted out of her seat and took the letter Mia had offered her. She hastily ripped above the seal and pulled out the letter, eager to hear from her family, even though it had been quite some time after their departure. "Thank you."

"I'll leave your nightgown here," she said, placing it on the couch. "Excuse me."

She bowed, and shut the door behind her.

Layla looked down at her father's familiar writing, and read:

_Layla, _

_I apologize for having neglected to write earlier, I have been too busy to pick up a pen, but now I come bearing horrible news. Fallon has died, though I won't delve into the details. Our stay in Oxford will be extended because of it. We will remain here until the end of the month, though I'm quite sure that Luisenbarn is capable of taking good care of you during our absence. _

_Stay safe, Layla, there are many dangers for such a feeble child to endure._

_Your father_

The paper slipped from her fingers. Fallon was dead.

"Is something wrong?"

Her chest tightened as she patted the air for a place to sit until she settled for the armrest. "My stepmother has died."

"I'm sorry." He was at a loss of words.

She gulped, recalling the final tidbit. "He also knows you've been visiting…"

Starrk sighed deeply. "Nothing get's by him."

She looked at him in desperation. "I don't know what to do."

"It seems as though you have a lot of things to solve on your own." He reached for the door. "Maybe a good distraction might help."

He pulled open the door, and ventured into her bedroom towards the next.

_A distraction,_ she considered, fiddling with her robe nervously. She glanced up to see his retreating form, just as he vanishes beyond the threshold of her chambers, and rushed after him.

"Starrk, wait," she called, running behind him.

He stopped midway down the hall, to face her.

"To that ball, I'll go with you."

He smiled, pleased. "You will?"

She nodded. "Yes, I also think I need a good distraction, and it's still a ways off…I'll also have time to pay my respects to my stepmother."

"I should get going." He continued on his way, stopping at the staircase, and once again turning to her. "Layla."

She blinked, having taken a step back before she felt curious enough to ask for something more than a simple farewell. "Yes?"

"You should consider hiding elsewhere until the murders cease, or until your family returns," he suggested. "Stay there as long as possible, with a friend if you must. The other families have already taken precautions. Everyone is actually weary of being caught in the maelstrom, and I stupidly believed it would never come down to singling someone out." He pushed his hands into his pockets. "I would have asked you to go into hiding, if I knew it would come to this."

"Has your family…?"

He nodded curtly. "Yes. It's difficult to move around with the Scotland Yard hounding you at any given moment."

Layla felt as though she was wasting his time by having him visit often. He might have been doing it freely, but she felt as though he had been forcing himself into continuing. "You should consider taking similar measures, I will do the same," she said. "Thank you for informing me."

He smiled lightly, turning away and heading down the stairs. "Have a good day, Layla."

She followed him until reaching the staircase, and watched him walk off the final step. He looked over his shoulders as the butler opened the door for him, bidding him farewell with a bow. She could still see him trotting down the stairs outside, until he reached midway, and she could only recall the shallow imprint of his form as it descended.

When had she become so taken by him?

She shook her head.

_No, I shouldn't get ahead of myself._

Layla returned to her room silently, her mind plagued her with an infinite amount of problems that needed resolving. She would need to mature, if only slightly, to be able to comprehend it all. As she plopped down on her newly-made bed, she wondered if that was possible for someone her age.

She dropped down over her pillows, shutting her eyes tightly. Her stepmother was dead. She was a target. Her father is aware of Starrk's consistent visits. The murders. That kiss. The fortune she promised to pay no heed to, and the meeting she had scheduled with fate.

_Can one really overcome such strife?

* * *

_

**x L i l i m**:

Free time, oh lovely free time, how I missed free time! D:

So, I probably should have had this up a while ago, but I kept pushing the date and figured Saturday was a good day.

I don't know what to say, so, thank you for reading, and I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter (though it was short and not very eventful).

Also, many thanks to: Bara Ichimaru, rainy-lullaby, Dia de Luz, MadamMirage, and StellarAbyss for the wonderful reviews.

Maybe I'll do a special update schedule for Masquerade because everyone's such a sweetheart (and I never expected such a number of people liking this story. :3 But what should we base this special on...? Well, you all tell me what you think. Want a special update? Or would you prefer...weekly updates up until I run out of chapters?)

Well, drop a line and tell me what you prefer. :)


	15. A Splash of Color 4

**Masquerade**

Chapter 15

- _**A Splash of Color 4 **_-

_With hands as delicate as silk,_

_And the lingering scent of flowers,_

_The final memories of a woman—_

_One that only wanted happiness,_

_Life gave her misery_

Layla put as much consideration as possible into Starrk's parting words. She had also taken the time to visit a church to formally pay her respects to her stepmother, even if the woman had gone out of her way to shun her during her childhood. She relinquished horrible memories, replacing them with candid recollections of outings that may be have been considered fake, but looked very real to the world before them. She hoped that Fallon had not been a part of the chain murders, though she figured they were only centered in London, the base of the families for the last few months. She wished the woman breathed her last breath in sleep, a painless, but luxurious form of dying. Fallon would have enjoyed the luxury of dying without suffering, but…she did face affliction.

Fallon married her father, and he was a man who cared very little for others. Even if they were married for over ten years, there were no signs of affection, only a sense of stability. He cheated on her various times, affairs that in some cruel way benefited him with publicity, or facts to ensure something of importance. His children were proof of such affairs.

Though, Layla pitied his first wife most of all. They had been married politically, to ensure his inheritance of a title he masks from the world. Kind words and gestures had lured her into the belly of the beast, and becoming an acceptable wife became her drive, but when she fell in love she came across a sight. He would always strive for the beneficial, and at that moment, he only cared for reaching the same level as the Yamamoto and Luisenbarn. The revelations spawned others, downright to a blasé confession of his plans.

It is said that Clementine had gone crazy, and ultimately committed suicide. It had only taken nine months to have her replaced when Fallon went from mistress to bride. By then, her father had three children: Ilforte, Sun-Sun, and herself. At the time, she was still with her real mother, not the woman her father tried to substitute her with. Her life was full of wonder and stability.

She never felt alone.

There were never problems in her world.

Layla blew away the steam rising from her cup of black tea, eyes dreamily overlooking the furnishings of the dinner room. Breakfast had been served over an hour ago, but she barely picked at her entrée after settling for a warm cup of tea to shake away pestering thoughts.

She visited the church yesterday, and when thinking of Fallon, she mulled over various things. She wanted to somehow justify her father's objectives as something other than ambition, but they were just that. She wished to consider that he felt even a slither of compassion towards his deceased wives and mistresses, but knew it was only wistful thinking. She herself did not have one good memory of her father. In fact, he had the worst memories in her reserve. Nothing great came out of being recognized as his daughter.

She set down her cup, picking up her fork to resume her breakfast. From inside the large empty room, which echoed every sound louder than when everyone was present, she could hear the timbre of the housemaid's voices. The resonance of Mia's footsteps in the second level faded the further they went down the hall. Mina, the elder maid, made trips back and forth from the kitchen and dining room.

When Mina reentered, Layla got out of her seat and headed towards the doorway. "Mina, do you know of the existence of another manor in the outskirts of town?" she asked. "Somewhere secluded, where not many know its location, or who owns it for that matter?"

"Hmm, a place that no one knows about?" The older woman paused while tapping her chin. "If I remember correctly, there is a vacant estate in the outskirts of town, though it's much smaller than this, and has a larger garden." She glanced back at her. "Why the question, milady?"

Layla smiled lightly. "Could you pack my belongings and transfer them to that estate? Also, please send a few people to have it prepared for my arrival."

"Yes, milady." Mina bowed, leaving the room with her head lowered.

She observed her servants for the rest of the morning, but that day she decided to stay indoors. She hadn't thought about the horrid and she wasn't concerned with finding something to wear for the ball that weekend because her mind was lost elsewhere. When she spent time in her father's library, reading the novels he collected, she found herself thinking about that kiss Starrk had given her.

She felt rejuvenated and her caretakers appreciated the change in demeanor. She ate properly, slept well throughout the night, took walks around the garden, and read old romance novels she practically begged to get. She reviewed the text until it got to the peak of the novel's romance and tried to compare it to the sentiments blooming in her chest. During walks she could hear the clamor of women bragging about their feelings and experiences, but instead of telling the world, she wanted to keep it to herself as something precious and one of a kind.

She was unsure of what sort of reaction she should have, would a happy exterior be enough, or was she glowing like the fictional heroines in her novels. They were oftentimes described to glow with exuberance after mutual feelings were revealed, but whenever she passed a mirror, there was no difference.

Layla wondered if she was overanalyzing that simple peck. It probably meant nothing, and she was excited for feelings she was uncertain of having. Yes, she enjoyed Starrk's company; he kindly dealt with her even while insufferable and he gave her flowers of every type. Men who courted her gave her pricey material items, jewelry, clothing, offered her large mansions, and money, but he settled for flowers. Plants died easily, but they were of sentimental value. Though she could never look at them as objects of beauty because they reminded her of the mother she couldn't remember. But of what she did, she kept with the purest of affections. The contours of that woman's face were obscured by long tresses and her eyes were a warm brown that eased the turmoil in her heart, but her hands were exceptionally genuine. Gentle caresses and faint kisses were the only things she remembered about her mother, aside from the mist that shrouded the expanse of the cold London streets.

Flowers reminded her of the shadow of her mother, and even as a silhouette, her mother was the most beautiful creature.

Layla touched the yellow petals of her daffodils after laying her book to rest at its counter. A few of her household servants were taking cases of her clothing out to the carriages that would be taking them to the manor hidden in the outskirts of town. Others had already been sent ahead since that morning to clean and prepare it for her arrival.

She decided to move into the manor after the Laxton ball.

* * *

**Luisenbarn Vacationing Home, Gate**

Starrk had been crouched down in front of the gate for over an hour, receiving an abundance of odd looks. He was approached plenty of times, people asking if he was fine, but rescinded when they laid eyes on the scruffy puppy playfully tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. He ran into the spaniel plenty of times when he abandoned his workload, which eventually led to him feeding and playing with it often. Today was quite different, after he fed it, the puppy decided to follow him and he done everything in order to get it to return home, except the small dog refused to listen to his halfhearted orders.

The gate opened with a long squeak, the puppy jolted dropping his cuff.

"Starrk!" called Lilynette. "What are you doing out here?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "What should I do with this little guy?"

"Huh?" She stepped over to where he was, peering over his shoulder to see the dirty dog, and wrinkled her nose. "Why would you buy a dog? Especially a dirty one…"

"I found it," he answered evenly.

"Grandpa hates dogs you know. Leave it."

Starrk sighed, standing up. "Fine, I'm tired of sitting there anyway."

Lilynette gave her brother a once over before coming across a few nasty rips in his clothes. "You ruined another suit!"

"The dog bites."

"Do you even have something to wear to that gathering?"

"No."

She panicked. "Why didn't you say so earlier? We could've had the tailor make something for you!"

"Oh well." He shrugged his shoulders and headed into their vacationing home without noticing the puppy chase him inside. He had plenty of other clothes to wear to that gathering, all the families had to do was present themselves and he managed to coax Layla into showing up as a representative of her father.

"I'm surprised you haven't gone seen _Layla_," Lilynette remarked disdainfully.

"If you're jealous say so."

She stomped her foot angrily. "Why would I be jealous?"

"I just wanted to say that."

Lilynette kicked him in the shin, knocking him onto the ground. She would never know how painful it was for anyone to be kicked by someone wearing heels.

"Wanna start something?"

Starrk remained sprawled over the grass in front of their Spanish garden before their villa, when he felt something land on his back.

"That stupid dog followed you in!"

"Leave it be."

"It's dirty."

"I don't mind."

"Ugh, why are you so boring?" she complained, stomping away. "I hope grandpa finds you there and gives you something better to do than loaf around, you bum."

Even if he was given a task it didn't mean he would do it. In fact, he was supposed to be talking to Ulquiorra about the autopsies he conducted on the bodies, but took a detour to the river. He forgot that he called out Ulquiorra.

_At least I made up for yesterday._ He fell asleep with the southing sound of running water, subsequently dreaming of having a conversation with Layla until he ruined the mood by kissing her. Her reaction was the opposite of what he faced the day it actually happened. He didn't regret doing it as much as he thought, knowing that it would complicate things in the long run.

Starrk felt the puppy lick the side of his face and whine. He looked up. "I think I know what to do with you."

* * *

**Aizen Manor, Afternoon**

After finishing the novel in her hands, Layla sat in the drawing room with a fan to keep her relatively cool. She flipped through the pages of her book with one hand and with the other flapped her fan.

_What is with this heat?_

She noticed Mia rush down the hallway through the open door, the heel of her boots clicking towards the manor's door. She never even heard the knock, but that went to prove how poor her concentration was.

Layla got out of her seat, dropping her leather-bound book on the antique couch. She smoothed out the wrinkles on her simple crème-colored dress and peered out the doorway shortly after Mia squealed with delight. She was enjoying the scenery from the window on the other side of the manor, which she visited from time to time. This time she was going into every room to get a feel of everything before she left.

She headed towards the front door. The closer she got the clearer the voices had gotten. When she emerged from the hall beside the staircase she noticed Starrk standing in the foyer with a dog in his hands, while Mia fawned over how cute the puppy was.

"Good afternoon, viscount," she said, closing her fan against her palm.

Starrk looked her way, excusing himself from the young maid, who was called into a different room by Mina.

"You look better."

She smiled lightly. "You've been quite a distracting thought."

He blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

She looked down at the dirty spaniel in his hands. "Does he bite?"

"He's actually really playful."

She patted the small dog and noticed it wagging its tail excitedly. "Do you need anything?" she asked, lifting her gaze to catch him staring.

Starrk put the small puppy on the floor. "I came to see you."

"No flowers?"

"It was difficult trying to carry flowers and the dog; he started chewing on the stems," he admitted with a sigh.

"Did you return home yet?"

"I had to."

She nodded slowly, keeping an eye on the puppy sniffing around the large room. "I see."

"Do you like dogs?"

"Yes, I had one as a child, but my father didn't let me keep her long," she answered. "He's more of a bird person."

Starrk smiled. "Would you like to keep him?"

"Oh, I couldn't, he's yours."

"Actually, I'm not allowed to keep dogs, my grandfather's a cat person."

"That's quite unexpected."

"Indeed."

Layla absentmindedly followed the dog around the foyer, playing a quick game with him while Starrk watched from where he stood. She could feel his eyes on her at all times, moving with her, burning into her skin. She tensed up and picked up the small animal, cradling it in her arms. She was tempted to take in the energetic puppy because he could serve as a companion while her family was still out, and she definitely needed more distractions.

"Would it be fine with you if I kept him?"

"I thought you might enjoy some company."

She turned to face him, holding back a smile. "I'll take him in if you help me bathe him."

He frowned. "You could ask anyone to bathe him for you…"

She mirrored his expression. "Would you much rather sit in a hot room eating sweets with wine?"

"Do I have other options?"

She shook her head.

Starrk sighed deeply, reaching to unbutton his jacket. "Very well, milady, lead the way."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Layla watched as Starrk drew up his sleeves and roll up his pants while the young pup scuttled around the bathroom barking excitedly. She ran her fingers through the lukewarm water in a short wooden tub sitting on the floor. Bottles and bars of soap were sitting next to it, and a few towels were draped over a steel table in the corner.

"What should I name him?" she asked curiously, meeting his gaze.

He rubbed the stubble underneath his chin pensively. "There don't seem to be a lot of interesting names for dogs nowadays," he answered. "Anything should be fine."

"Viscount L'Isle too?"

"It's not as becoming as one would expect out of a title."

She laughed lightly. "Do you tend to official duties, viscount?"

"It's a courtesy title until I inherit my father's designation."

It sounded like a stupid question when she asked it, but by the time it fell from her lips, it was too late. "Oh, where is your father?"

"He died ten years ago."

"Forgive me. That must have seemed idiotic of me." She placed her hands on her knees while crouching down. "Why exactly haven't you inherited the title? I mean, considering your situation."

"I decided against it, I prefer the courtesy title."

"Wouldn't the title of earl be better?"

"I'm not the heir to an earldom."

She felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I only implied."

"It was his third title."

Layla stared at him evenly. "A duchy?"

He nodded.

"Why don't you just accept it? A duchy could benefit your family."

"Actually, holding high titles in society would afflict the family, if something of a dangerous nature would occur and we would lose power, we still have our own right to stay in high society as normal members of nobility," he said. "We could still be removed, but there are ways to circumvent it."

"Does that apply to everyone within the three clans?"

"It should." He stared at her oddly. "Doesn't your father have other properties?"

"There are plenty properties, but I implied they came with the package. I suppose that was ignorant on my behalf."

"I think it's better to be ignorant than aware."

"How so?"

Starrk wheeled around the tub and crouched down in front of her. "When you become aware of everything happening within the families you lose a sense of yourself. There will be days when you'll wonder if the power is worth the trouble. The affliction doubles over." He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd rather be ignorant than aware."

"Starrk, may I ask you something?"

"Feel free." Starrk reached for the puppy that had been running around them in circles and held him on his lap.

"Would this make you the Luisenbarn heir?"

She anticipated the response to be dire. If he confirmed it, she wouldn't know how to react properly. Would she automatically ask him to leave, or would she attempt to reestablish set boundaries between them? Their constant meetings could be a way to coax her into spilling her father's secrets—a way for the Luisenbarn to get their hands on everything the Aizen family had taken from them. She may have already fallen for the intricate trap Starrk might have set up. He was a bright man with an eye for detail, any plan he concocted would be perfect.

He chuckled. "You shouldn't joke about that."

Relief washed over her as she breathed a sigh.

"We should hurry," he continued.

"Oh yes, of course."

In collaboration, they struggled but ultimately managed to wash the dirt from the small dog's fur, returning to its original white and pale brown color. The puppy had shaken off the water, splashing them with both muddied water and soap-filled liquid.

At the end of the dog's bathing, Starrk cruelly splashed the water onto her face as she was carrying the bucket out for Mia to dump. When he did, she angrily sought vengeance, throwing a bucket full of water onto him.

"That's quite brave of you, Layla," he said, reaching for the nearest bucket of water.

She looked from him to the bucket, taking various cautious steps back. "And what exactly do you plan on doing with that, sir?"

His smirked widened, the water still dripping from his hair and chin.

She was tempted to run, but she could skid over the slippery marble. "There is no need for you to try revenge, you see—"

Starrk took a quick step forward and she panicked, holding her arms over her face. Her evident vulnerability made it easier for him to dump the water over her head without much effort.

She gasped loudly.

"We seem to be even now."

Layla bolted towards the only other bucket sitting on the floor and picked it up. "You cheated."

He held his hand up in surrender. "I give in, Layla, there's no need for you to—"

She tossed the water at him, blatantly disregarding his words.

He took a breath, eyes fixed on her narrowing ones. She laughed obnoxiously before heading towards the door when she felt the splash of the dirty water over her small frame.

She whipped around furiously. "That was dirty water, you…you—"

He chuckled. "You, what?"

"I'll make sure I toss you down the staircase, now get over here."

Layla chased him around the room, slipping continuously over the wet marble, until he got out of the room. She cried out after him, straining in order not to shout obscenities his way for his childish behavior. Starrk continued down the long hallway towards the door, oftentimes slipping because of his soapy feet. Along the way she managed to lose sight of him, but the small puppy was at her side, shaking off the excess water from its fur.

She roamed around her own household stupidly for quite some time before reaching her limit. "Coward, stop running away."

"Running?"

Unsuspecting of his voice coming from behind her, she jumped and shoved him. "Starrk!"

They were soaked from head to toe, creating trails of water throughout every hall they previously explored.

"Oh my, milady, viscount, what happened?"

When they looked, Mina had just walked into the hallway, holding bundled up sheets in her arms.

At that moment, they could only smile.

* * *

Layla and Starrk sat underneath the blazing sun with the newly named puppy, Viscount L'Isle or Vinny for short. They had been sitting on the freshly cut grass since Mina asked them to find something more productive to do than make an amusement park out of her father's mansion. They conceded with the older woman's orders and took a seat in the middle of the garden to dry out their dripping wet clothes.

She glanced his way, watching him drop down onto his back with his hands behind his head. "Did it get hotter?"

"I didn't notice."

He rolled onto his side with a groan. "It's definitely hotter."

"I suppose you're right."

The sunset dyed the sky iridescent shades of orange and red, and the heat subsided with time. She caught herself staring a number of times after Starrk had fallen asleep besides her. Vinny took the time to sit underneath the shade of his body to finally rest.

She didn't notice when he woke up until he said something. "I should probably head home."

"The sun is setting." She took Vinny from its comfort and lifted him onto her lap, running her hand through its soft fur. He reached forward to pet the cocker spaniel one last time before getting off the grass.

"Have you thought about moving?"

"Yes, we have an estate in the outskirts of town. I won't be moving in until after that gathering, so I can't give you directions until then."

He smirked. "Are you inviting me over?"

"I'm sure Vinny would appreciate your company."

She struggled to get to her feet, tipping back until he took her hand and helped her balance with the puppy in her arms.

"The summer is a busy season for me, but I'll visit often."

She nodded, following him into the manor. He stopped in the foyer and turned to face her seriously.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, curious.

He gave her one long look and turned to the doorway. "Nothing. Goodnight Layla."

The moment he crossed the threshold she was confounded by her uncertainty. There was something hidden behind his eyes, the way they looked at her as though he was trying to keep something from her. She would never understand him as well as she might have expected.

Layla sighed, turning on her heel and heading up the staircase. "What does he mean _nothing_?"

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

I can do weekly updates since I have chapters to spare while I write more to try to continue doing this. Again, I apologize for the lack of interesting scenes...I'm doing build-up again, it seems. Sorry for taking too long to put this up too, the site was acting up or something...or maybe it was just me. I don't know...it wouldn't let me get to the page without showing an error. So, this would have been up earlier had it not been for that.

Thank you for reading, and many thanks to: rainy-lullaby (I'm sorry for killing off Fallon...it would have freaked me out were it my name too. Really. XD), Bara Ichimaru, Dia de Luz, and Jazka Star for reviewing the previous chapter.

See you next week with a more exciting chapter of Masquerade (in my opinion its exciting...well, the ending's exciting. Oh yes, the ending).


	16. A Splash of Color 5

**Masquerade**

Chapter 16

- _**A Splash of Color 5 **_–

_I childishly declined things that I now regret—_

_Time is what I wish to have_

_Sitting quietly at the palm of my hand_

_For when I tire of this world I may return to those days,_

_Seven years, in early spring, where you were you, and I was me?_

_When my vision lacked sense, _

_And my heart, so tumulus and strange, could not admit defeat_

**Day of the Laxton Ball, Morning**

Starrk arrived at the Aizen manor early that morning while Layla rested alongside Vinny on the narrow couch of her drawing room. The windows were open wide, drapes drawn allowing streams of sunlight to fall over the carnations sitting at the round table.

He closed the door behind him quietly, and padded around the room. He recognized that room to be Layla's favorite place aside from the piano room because it was rearranged differently each time he visited. He heard from her maid that she had spent every day cooped up inside, waiting until the Laxton Ball. He found it amusing to hear that sort of thing, even if it hadn't come out of Layla's mouth. She often pushed him away, while wanting him to stay. She sometimes said the opposite of what she wanted.

Starrk leaned over the couch, eyes drawn in by the subtle beauty in her regal features—long lashed brushing against her skin, a straight nose, and a pair of supple lips he was tempted to kiss. He looked further down to the cocker spaniel nestled in the curve of her body, sleeping just as soundly as she. His eyes went back to her and his hand brushed against her cheek…and she moved slightly. He laid it over her face gently.

He wondered when it occurred. What would be the perfect question? He couldn't exactly recall the moment, but remembered the day he progressively began thinking of Layla as something other than Aizen's daughter. Around the time he purposely neglected his duty as his grandfather's heir, in late spring. Before the inner conflicts began, but after the demand for the next generation of the clans, when she was wearing a red gown. It complimented her skin, the natural pink of her lips, and the brown hue of her eyes, but she had a horrible mind-set during those days. The abrasiveness lessoned after the Barry-Watson Auction. He was sure that's when it happened. His conflict ended and she was the peacemaker.

Layla continued moving, groaning slightly.

Starrk retracted his hand from her face, curling it over the couch's frame.

She stretched out her cramped limbs, waking up. She opened her eyes, facing his direction, blinked once…twice…thrice before she bolted into a seat, startling Vinny awake.

"Why are you in my home?" she panicked.

"Visiting," he said curtly.

She stared at him awkwardly. "What's the occasion? I was under the impression that you would arrive this evening to escort me to the ball."

"I had time on my hands."

Layla glanced to the grandfather clock and whipped around to face him. "It's not even time for breakfast." She rubbed her eyes and looked about the room for Vinny, who cuddled underneath the table. "Do you sleep throughout the day to make up for the blatant lack thereof it in the morning?"

"Sleeping is a virtue I enjoy indulging in."

"You indulge in sloth, and that is no virtue."

He rounded the couch and took a seat once she dropped her feet. "Sleep is good."

She stood, the fabric of her nightgown clung to her thin frame as she bent down to pick up Vinny. He turned away quickly, leaning into the couch. When had his eyes seen her in such a light?

"It is good, I never said it wasn't," she stated, holding the sleeping pup in her hands. "And because it's not yet breakfast, I'll enjoy a couple more hours of rest."

"Isn't it rude to leave a guest unattended?"

"You're not a guest, but an intruder," she said clearly. "I don't recall inviting you in."

"Your maid took care of doing so."

She furrowed her eyebrows in frustration. "That damn child."

He chuckled. "Child?"

"She's only sixteen."

"Do you consider yourself an adult?"

"I have twenty-two years on me and had enough time to see what this world has to offer, would you consider me a child?"

During silly discussion such as this, was when he enjoyed her company the most.

Starrk got out of his seat and sauntered towards her. "You are not a child but not yet a woman, you have the mentality of a sheltered noble, which could be accountable for your abrasive nature."

Layla bristled. "Are you mocking me?"

"I would never."

"My temperament is not abrasive; I was raised accordingly by a well-known governess."

"I'm not talking about your solecisms, just the nature of your abrasiveness."

She barked a laugh. "How interesting of you to speak of bad manners when yours are worse than mine."

"My manners are much different than yours."

"Your conduct is that of a crook."

She managed things others couldn't.

"That I won't deny."

"Don't sound so proud." She took a step towards her chambers. "In any case, you're more of a child than I am. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to sleep."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Have some manners!" she cried, her face flushed as she stomped into her bedroom.

He followed her into her bedroom, watching her climb her four-poster bed while setting down Vinny on the pillow besides her. She shot an uneasy glare his way, and pulled the thin sheet over her form.

"Good day."

Starrk plopped down at the edge of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder at her tense form underneath the covers. He wanted to hold her if not kiss her, just as he hoped to stay near her if not be with her.

"This wouldn't be the first time, and I certainly wouldn't mind you drooling—"

She threw the pillow from her head square at his face. "You are the worst."

He held the pillow in his hands after it bounced off his face. "It's a bit chilly this morning."

"I am not in need of your warmth, Vinny is enough."

"Vinny can easily walk away."

"I have blankets, plenty of them," she continued.

She pulled her blankets over her face, hiding her blush. Hey eyes remained on his face, puffy and somnolent. He reclined on his hands, watching her.

"Don't mind me and rest, Layla."

"How can I not? You're sitting at the foot of my bed watching me. Do you have something to say to me?"

He considered it, but retracted knowing dawn was too early to confess. "You'll see."

"Don't toy with me."

"Sleep," he said. "Don't let my presence keep you up."

She growled. "You only came to bother me, didn't you?"

He dropped down on the bed. "Unintentionally, of course."

"I have trouble believing that."

"Your little sister managed to get me in trouble."

"What?"

"It happened shortly after the auction, but I forgot to tell you." He remembered having caught the Scotland Yard's detective tailing him around town. He had taken a walk with Lilynette, but his run-in with the man spoiled the evening. He managed to get as much information as possible to structure the entity of Roxanne's nonsense. She spoke nothing but lies in order to save herself, while staining the names of her saviors.

Layla sat up, pushing back her hair, eyes staring at the ground. "Seeing as you're present would mean you managed to get away."

"Actually, the chief hates gypsies. That's why I'm here."

She nodded slowly. "Some people don't take the time to understand their culture; they have no right to impose their hatred on them."

He tilted his head upward, to face her. "I find their culture to be quite appealing." He lifted his upper body, moving closer to her and reaching out to touch her face where his fingers outlined her face. "Your face is quite different because of your gypsy heritage."

She pushed his hand away. "Stop."

"Do you deny it?"

She shut her eyes tightly. "It was stripped from me, but you should already know that. You seem to have done your research."

He only found out along the way, it wasn't necessarily research, but he knew things the rest of the world was oblivious about. Everyone was under the impression that she was Fallon's daughter and Sun-Sun fraternal twin. Their similarities in age would only make sense with that lie, people believed it. While Sun-Sun took after her mother, Layla had taken after her father, or so they said to sate the need for a scandal. If he could match her features elsewhere, he would probably say she inherited her mother's charm, but there wasn't away to assert his implication—and he really was only insinuating.

"I'd prefer to hear it from you."

"I won't speak of it." She dropped down to her bed, curling underneath her coverlet. "Words to structure it would be impossible to invent."

"There are plenty others within the families that have pasts they can't speak of," he said calmly, "so I can understand why you'd rather not." He could hear the sound of her breathing, anxious and abnormal, but he couldn't see her underneath the coverlet. "There's one child in particular that would never speak of its origins, I'm sure you've heard the story."

"The mixing of the blood…was it…?"

"Someone that holds both Luisenbarn and Yamamoto names."

Layla inhaled deeply. "That's as bad as my situation…"

Starrk dropped the subject at the strain in her tone. Whatever force had stripped her from her origins seemed like a deep-rooted thorn—something for her to continuously look back to wherever she may go.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Starrk's eyes snapped open at the sound of shuffling feet across the hallway.

He had fallen asleep without noticing and Layla didn't bother waking him by the looks of her messy bed. Her nightgown was draped over an armrest and a pair of boots sat upright by its legs.

He got out of her bed, stretching, yawning, and pacing before checking the drawing room for her. She wasn't present. He left her chambers, walked along the corridors until he caught wind of whispered words coming from where he remembered her piano was.

The melody of her piano was forlorn, yet expectant—a piece for hopeless romantics that faced strife, but are eagerly willing to pursue their affections. She had a knack for romantic compositions, for the darkest aspects in reality. The sound was soft, haunting, drawn together by the louder pieces that expressed passion and resentment. It was powerful, but was quick to end—abruptly.

He stopped at the end of the hall to see she managed to garner the attention of her servants, a clutter of them standing outside, while Mina—the woman in charge of the household—slipped into the room. The older woman's voice was hushed, barely audible from where he stood, but he could catch words such as '_please_', '_cry_', and '_Layla_'.

If she was crying, he blamed himself. He might have been too intrusive. If he could apologize, he would do so a thousand times.

* * *

**Evening**

Starrk left her manor that same morning, leaving a letter for her to wait for him during the evening. She dressed in a seasonal gown, impeccably tailored and lain out by Mia, who enjoyed making sure she looked her best. Layla would gladly enter a high-class parlor in rags than have to deal with a corset. As much as she enjoyed the clothing, the corset, and the bustle were the only things she could live without. Aside from that, she didn't mind the glamour.

Layla stayed in the piano room for the rest of the afternoon, practicing to pass time. She fiddled with new compositions of her own, none of which sounded particularly interesting. Vinny barked with each high tone, annoying Mia who regretted thinking the puppy was cute. Every time she walked into the piano room in case she needed anything, she would ask Vinny to quiet down and stop gnawing at her stockings.

Eventually, her young maid returned to inform her Starrk arrived. She took her matching handbag from Mia on her way out of the music room, and trotted down the staircase to meet her _date_ on the foyer.

"Are we late? Early?"

He stared at her for a while. "Late."

"Why didn't you come earlier?"

"I fell asleep."

Her mouth dropped slightly. "Why can't you take advantage of the morning for sleep?"

"You meet the strangest people in the morning." He offered her his arm and she wound hers around it.

"I take it you're one of them."

"You have a way with words, Layla."

"Hmph."

She pulled him along towards the door, remembering to bid farewell to Mina standing by the staircase.

As he helped her into the carriage at the front gate, he gently held her hand. Her heart fluttered as a blush warmed her cheeks, his eyes followed her movements carefully, but his mere presence left her unsettled.

"Would you mind taking a detour?" he asked, taking a seat across from her and knocking on the wall.

"We're already late, why do we need a detour?" The carriage began moving, the coach already aware of their new destination. She balanced herself in her seat, pushing away the glossy fabric of her skirt in order to move her cramped legs. "The Laxton already don't like us and we're making a horrible impression this way."

"The Laxton have reason to favor us."

She rolled her eyes. "Really? And what's that?"

"We could easily eradicate them, why wouldn't they like us?"

Layla kicked his leg harshly. "Don't speak of death so simply."

Starrk groaned, bending over to rub his leg. "It's natural to be afraid of what can destroy you; it's what everyone in our presence is doing. They bend to our will because we intimidate them."

"They do it because people like you _threaten _to kill them."

He leaned back. "I would never threaten to kill a person."

"Oh really?"

"I have some class," he added sullenly. "If they're dead then they'll be dead."

"Don't justify your job."

"I don't justify it, I hate it."

She stared at him evenly, the feeling in her stomach wishing he hadn't said that. One cannot justify death, nor have the right to decide whether one lives or perishes. She hated what he did; to even overlook someone's demise meant he would be classified as a murderer. But she despised the fact that she abhorred it to begin with. "If you hate it, why do it?"

He dropped his gaze and rubbed his face. "There are things you don't understand," he replied grimly. "You haven't seen enough to judge my position."

Layla heart sunk, eyes watered as they digested the truth behind his words. He could say anything and she would accept it as truth. Starrk knew a lot more about how their families worked, more than anyone would possibly bother to tell her. She unconsciously expected so much out of their exchanges, it was something one would anticipate in a friendship—trust, confidence—but he suddenly retracted. He threw the reality in her face. He, just as he claimed she, had no right to judge his position because she had no understanding in the world. _Just what do you take me for_, she wanted to ask. _What sort of naïve woman do you think me to be?_ But the words were lodge in her throat, chocked back by the tears, and she couldn't even blurt out her rebuke.

A traitorous tear fell from her eye and she quickly wiped it before he lifted his gaze. She looked at him with a furrowed brow, her lips trembling, her fingers crossing over each other.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize Layla, you did nothing."

She smiled hesitantly, nodding, and averted her attention to the scenery out the carriage window. The blur of trees and lampposts' hazy lights slipped past the fast moving carriage. The scene would chance and the cold would creep over the surface of the window, smudging the edges—leaving the imprint of its wintry touch. She thought evening would be as warm as morning, but the temperature dropped once the sky was inked black. Everything was going by too quickly for her to focus her mind.

If she continued thinking, she would cry like she did that morning. Starrk got to her head with that conversation, even though that fact had long lost it relevancy in their world. Even if the public came to know the exoticness of her features came from her gypsy heritage, no one was left to prove it. The Romanichal in their claimed plaza would deny her existence because her mother stupidly had a child with someone outside their culture. Her mother was missing—quite possibly dead. Perhaps she was too stupid to trust that gypsy's reading. She stopped believing in fate and how things happened for a reason the same day her only savior was killed. Vandlo, if he were still living, could free her from this awful world. He could calm her nerves and ease the pain of isolation and abandonment.

_Regain some equanimity and just go on—damnit._

Layla leaned back, shutting her watery eyes.

"Where are you taking me?"

"The London Bridge," he answered quietly.

"That's nothing new for me to see, I've walked across it dozens of times."

"Tonight, it may be quite different."

"I sure hope so."

Like a bad congestion, her thoughts piled into mush sitting and waiting, hoping and decaying. The scenery outside the carriage window consisted of nothing but old homes, bumpy streets, the occasional couple walking down the sidewalk with their arms linked in an amorous gesture. Everything was tedious—no notable difference to decipher Starrk's words.

The carriage neared the bridge, stopping only after it was right in front of it. The gruff neigh of the horses echoed in the empty street while the wintry night haze set in. Starrk pushed open the door, stepping out before offering her his hand. He held her hand tightly and she expected the worse. He nodded to the coach, while leading her towards the scarcely vacant bridge, save the few pedestrians walking the overpass.

Layla followed closely, her heart beating erratically. The moon was high behind the clear mist that cast faint illumination over the sloshing water, paving subtle silhouettes over the pavement, and the stars hidden behind it glinted dimly. She tightened her grip on his hand, frightened and unaware. She looked at the quiet man with the highest suspicions, no longer considering him a friend. His behavior was strange, unlike his usually lethargic demeanor. He looked exhausted and stressed, and his pace progressively slowed as they neared the middle of the bridge.

He loosened his grasp on her gloved hand and glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure she was still present. She stay so long as he held her hand, she wanted to say but swallowed the acridity whole. The bitter taste ran coarsely through her throat, the flavor stinging the canal and upsetting her already agitated stomach.

Starrk dropped her hand with slight reluctance on his behalf, slipping off the crimson glove from her small hands. He held it in his clenched fist as he found his way to the ledge and took a seat.

Her hand suddenly went cold, in need of the warmth of his, but she merely followed without complaint.

He fiddled with her glove, holding it between his fingers. "How often do you come here with men?"

"I'm not allowed outdoors during this hour, _unless there is a gathering in need of attending_."

He chuckled, bypassing her hint. "Then this sight should be something you have never experienced."

Layla sighed. "Did you intentionally coax me out of my home on false pretenses?"

"To a shallow extent."

"You could lie, you know."

"I've lied enough to realize I hate doing it in front of you," he admitted, meeting her gaze.

Her chest clenched.

"Does it amuse you?"

She blinked. "Does what?"

"My words."

"I'm usually very offended by your words."

He frowned. "Are you? Sincerely? At all times? Every given moment?"

"Not all times, or any given moment," she clarified, trying to find something productive to do with her wandering hands. "Sometimes, your words can be quite charming, reliable, and necessary."

He remained quiet much longer than she felt comfortable.

"Will we sit here for the rest of the evening?"

He seemed to snap out of his musings as she took a seat beside him. "If you don't mind."

She smiled lightly. "Not at all."

It was easy for them to show up at a private ball, enjoy watching others gossip while drinking a fair share of wine, but she earnestly preferred the quite setting he placed before her. With time those crossing would stop and stare, and may even spread a rumor of their nonexistent rendezvous on the London Bridge, listening to the sounds of the River Thames. They might have held hands for a temporary as the minutes ticked away in Starrk's broken pocket watch, but she continuously dropped her hands back onto her lap to avoid the awkwardness of the idea.

"Layla," he called suddenly.

She jolted, surprised. "Y-yes?"

"Before I speak, you must promise not to push me off this bridge," he began. "And you should stay quiet for a large portion of this because I may not be able to continue if you interrupt me once. I don't need another escape route, don't offer any. Understood?"

"Yes, but I don't quite understand your reasoning for this…"

She stared at him oddly, but expectant.

He turned to face her, serious—enough make her shiver.

"Yes?"

Starrk was hesitant; she could read it in his eyes, even if his face read nothing. She could follow the light in his eyes and it trembled, but within it was also the determination to do what he had to.

"I want to formally court you."

Her eyes widened.

…_formally court you._

His blatant honesty was like a splash of color in her monochrome world, alas.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

This should have been out like hours ago, but then everyone in my household decided to get mad at me because someone's car doesn't work. The issue was not mine and shouldn't have been taken out on me, but my lord that seemed to complicated for anyone to understand. Until now I had time to finish fulminating and to finish this. Sorry for the wait...and my sort of ranting. I just feel so damn bothered by these past events.

Thank you for reading.

Many thanks to: rainy-lullaby, Woopa, JazkaStar, and Dia de Luz. (Special thanks to OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO for all the reviews she left on the previous chapters.)


	17. Hidden Paradise

**Masquerade**

Chapter 17

-_**Hidden Paradise**_-

_I do wonder, though, if I had such a wondrous miracle_

_And I could have seen this lack of color before time,_

_Could I have seen your face, knowing you as well as I do…_

_Seeing flesh upon bone, eyes clouded in hesitation,_

_Might I have been able to say…?_

Layla could deny herself the pleasure all she wanted, but she couldn't do the same for him. Not before the quiet, illuminated setting, nor in the comfort of her empty home—never could she see the light of determination and honesty dim from his eyes. Or have the power to ask him to rescind his affections and place them elsewhere. But the thought itself of knowing his attention would turn away from her horripilated her skin to the hesitation shown through her once calm, expecting countenance. Thanking him for caring enough to court her didn't seem proper, but her mind spun in disarray to outcast any rational ideas to help her pull through. And she was at a loss of words. And her eyes ventured over the length of the stone bridge until her eyes could only make out the roof of a coach's top hat as he crossed the overpass. The clucking and neighing of the horses gaze sounds to the otherwise silently dreadful experience the two, as nobles, were forced to share.

She breathed, alas, after holding her breath for the entity of a minute. It sunk in too quickly for her to realize her mistake. "_Court me?_" she said in disbelief, shuffling onto her feet. "There are things you can and can't do, Starrk."

Her eyes saddened with uncertainty as they met his grim expression. He almost seemed ready to be rejected—too familiar with the experience, enough to tell from simple gestures and conviction to understand that it was on premise. But he squinted his eyes, if only slightly and tilted his head upward to meet with the waxing moon.

The moving carriage crossed them and when she turned, the man reining the horses tipped his hat in greeting. She looked back to the viscount and fiddled with the loose thread on her sleeve waiting for him to say something, but he remained silent.

Had she been born elsewhere—in a different time, in a place far from the vanity and power of her rank, if she could have been that meager child with nothing to offer but her affections this situation would have gone smoothly? She acknowledged her feelings for him, but they weren't the same as his. Sure her hands clammed up when he was in proximity, and her traitorous heart palpitated whenever he said something endearing, or the levels of comfort experienced at his side—but the feelings didn't escalate further than that. They settled on a friendship, subtle, yet kind.

"It is not a joke," he finally said, his eyes locked on hers. "I am very serious about my desire to make you mine."

Her cheeks flushed pink. "Even if I had the desire, I wouldn't allow it. Our families can't mix—"

Starrk stood and stepped closer to her until he towered over her slightly, his eyes gleaming underneath the moonlight. "Our families mixed upon my birth—there is no reason for you to continue finding excuses circumventing the outcome of this event," he said, attempting to level his tone to mask the powerful emotion behind it. There seemed to be some reluctance hindering his better judgment. Where he saw clarity, he could see her face, but in front of rejection, unlike how he planned things happening without reproach or intervals for emotions, he felt adamant about getting through it all as quickly and painless as possible. But it ached, regardless. "You can either accept or refuse my proposal."

She could no longer hear his final words, her mind barely wrapping around the information he spewed at such a crucial moment and for a mere second it overshadowed her pitiful emotions.

"Y-you are…?" She trailed off; covering her red lips with the satin white glove on her hand without care of the stain left behind and pointed at him with her other hand in shock of the revelation. Her eyes scanned his form, reasoning, recalling that the child he told her about was him. Everything made sense with newfound knowledge. He was…the consequence of Barragan's daughter and Yamamoto's nephew. "You've been through all of that, yet you want to risk reliving what your parents did by proposing this to me."

"There's a way to avoid everything if you accept."

"I don't want to suffer anymore than I already have!" she cried desperately. "It's enough for me to feel at fault with my family. I don't need to have to feel the resentment this offer can lead to. I couldn't possibly stand it."

Starrk stared grimly. "Then reject me, Layla. I won't need anything but your word."

She coddled her sentiments, pushed them aside to avoid their interference and straightened out as she remembered the feelings of warmth in his lips that time not long ago. She put away the dreadfulness of her past and crossed her arms one over the other so her elbows to fit snuggly in her palms. She watched him keenly, stepping back so the click of her heel resonated over the pavement and small pebbles scratched against their previously undamaged appearance.

Layla saw him as he was, a handsome man with sharp features and a persona that piqued her interest. His dark hair was tied back loosely behind a black ribbon, while his eyes hid behind his lowered gaze and the moonlight that shown brighter where they stood lit the elegant contours of his face. If he could only be a kind gentleman for her to fall for, she would do it instantly without reproach. And it would be simple, so easy it would seem like living freely—always without worry—and she would love the simplicity offered. Even if it only meant a small cottage, anything would suffice, but regrettably her own loose imagination was getting the best of her.

They stood in front of one another, not as normal people, but as members of the most exclusive families in the world—enemy clans that for years have been conflicted by the lack of supremacy—and blood was thicker than water. She wasn't fickle enough to abandon her position for this because of her uncertainty and the years that were spent slavering at her father's side would go to waste. She hated the idea of having suffered so much to be in her position to leave it for what seemed like a rational idea.

"I am so sorry," she whispered gently, her hands coiling over the skirt of her gown and lifting it slightly as she turned. His eyes were unmoving. "I could never accept you. Only as a friend at best, but I cannot have you courting me. Please excuse me."

He stayed silent and she, with tears brimming in her eyes from an overwhelming emotion at the pit of her stomach, scuttled down the bridge to leave.

* * *

Layla spent her final days of peace with only the sound of her piano resonating through the empty halls—an act that helped clear her mind. But her sentiments dwindled and her heart ached with trepidation during the days before her father's sudden arrival. He entered his manor half past three and spent few seconds at the foyer before asking his travel companion—a young tan-skinned blond dressed in a high collar satin green dress—to enter the primary drawing room. At the time, Layla was entertaining her surprise guest, the red-haired duchess. She brought along a blank canvas, a few brushes, and paint to keep the younger woman entertained. Vinny ran through the garden, stalling along the roses and bustling through the short bushes across them to the carnations, she looked over Rovina as she painted the small lone daisy in bloom.

"How long have you had him?" She jutted out her chin to the white, brown spotted puppy as it rolled around the dirt.

Layla's eyes snapped toward it and she bolted out of her short stool. "Vinny, you'll get dirty!" The cocker spaniel jolted and barked at her. "Get out of there!"

Rovina Stephenson giggled, dipping her large brush back into the paint.

"Sorry," she said, taking her seat while keeping an eye on the puppy rushing further into the garden. "I've only had him a couple days."

"He's adorable." Rovina smiled sweetly before a brief silence. "So, how have you been darling?"

"Good," she answered quickly, hiding her anxiety. "W-what about you?"

"Terrible." The redhead dropped her shoulders and sighed deeply. "Since relations with the Luisenbarn were finalized, my duke has done nothing but neglect me—more than he had previously, to the point where I don't remember the last time he has ever touched me."

"That must be unsettling."

"I dare say it is! How can any man not touch a woman for so long?" she said suddenly. "It's not as though I haven't tried to interest him, I've been doing so continuously to the point of frustration. He claims he's exhausted and asks me to be considerate of his requests, but I can only be so kind."

When Rovina had problems with her husband they included altercations, abandonment, and the accumulating sexual frustration—at times, it was all three combined. Sometimes she hardly cared for her husband's indifference to her. She found ways to keep her composure and stand tall regardless of the infidelities she knew he was having. She stood strong, but as Layla saw her dear old friend sitting in front of her vibrant canvas, she saw that strength diminishing. The first signs were evident in her wandering gaze—that which caught the beauty of a lone flower with such precision she could feel her heartache etched in her canvas. Why did is spring from the ground away from the patch of others? The question was practically written all over Rovina's face.

Layla remained silent. Nothing rational came to mind in the midst of her regret. She should have given Starrk's offer more thought, she considered just as she had every other day since.

The duchess dropped her brush into the paint. "He's quite ignorant." She turned to her with a gentle smile upon her faded pink lips. "We were only married because he needed me. Someone able to make sure he wouldn't ruin his duchy. He was the only heir after all, and with him being an idiot with a pretty face, he had nothing to offer to what he would inherit."

She listened to the duchess's confession quietly. She heard the sound of her brush sliding over the surface of her painting once she changed colors and the quiet murmur of wind whisking past the leaves of the trees where they had settled.

"My parents raised me to compliment him in every aspect he lacked. The marriage wasn't necessarily optional and when it happened I couldn't help but like his faults." Her expression seemed forlorn and expectant. "I foolishly loved him for years knowing our union meant nothing more than a chore for him to cater to. Of course, my company is only necessary to maintain his riches, if not he would have married that whore Caroline Dubois."

She sneered.

"Why don't you ask for separation?"

"It is foolish of me to stay, isn't it?"

Layla faltered. Her heart thumped. "I wouldn't judge your decision to do so," she said, lowering her gaze. "You seem quite taken by your husband. It must be difficult to see him flaunting his attention to another woman."

"The feeling is dreadful, my dear," the duchess admitted. "But the biggest pain is the fact that I'm too stupid to understand that he doesn't need me. He needn't do a thing for my accommodations, or appease my vanity, I only wish for him to say he loves me. Even if it's a lie…I don't think I'll care as long as those words fall from his lips."

Layla wanted to know the right words. Without them she felt like a failure for a friend in need. She needed to say something that wouldn't worsen things or leave it as is, but the longer she contemplated a set of phrases…it seemed stupid for her to try to understand the worries of a married woman.

Rovina Stephenson continued gazing at the daisy even after she finished the first coat of paint. Her eyes never wandered away, even with Vinny serving as a distraction.

"Why is it that a single daisy sprouted away from the rest? It's discerning watching it sit in isolation from the rest, isn't it?"

"I think that could be fixed," Layla said, standing. She pulled off her gloves and set them over her seat as she walked up to the lonely flower.

"What are you doing?" asked Rovina, peering from over the top of her canvas.

"Putting it with the rest."

"Oh, you'll get dirt under your fingernails!"

"I don't mind."

Layla crouched down in front of it and had trouble digging through the grass. But she took off her shoes and with the hard heel of one managed to get through the hard part. She dug through the dirt, feeling it get underneath the fingernails that didn't snap over the labor, until she pulled it out with its roots.

"You're insane Layla. This is no way a lady should act."

She chuckled, amused, trotting to the fresh patch of daisies sitting nearby where she dug a new hole to lay it in.

Her hands were filthy, covered in dirt and the inside of her last long nails had it caked on. She used a bucket of water sitting underneath the shade to sprinkle some on her flower while patting down the soil before she washed her hands as best as she could.

"How kind of you to go to such extents," Rovina said with a kind smile.

"It would a shame for it to continue being alone, wouldn't you agree?"

"Mighty shame," the redhead agreed, the smile never fading from her lips.

Layla heard the crunch of grass behind her and waited for whichever one of her maids it was to speak while her eyes travelled over the garden.

"Layla," called her father.

She whipped around unexpectedly, hiding her hands behind her back like a guilty child. "Welcome back, father."

"Forgive the intrusion, earl," greeted Rovina, standing to curtsey.

Aizen regarded her guest indifferently before turning to her. "Bid farewell to the duchess and return inside," he said, taking a step back. "You shouldn't be out in this heat."

Once his back was turned, she rolled her eyes while turning to Rovina with a disappointed shrug.

"He's such a wonderful man," Rovina commented as she picked up her things.

"I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine, just promise to visit whenever you have the time."

"I'll visit soon."

"Bring Vinny," she said, picking up her canvas with an agitated grunt. "He's precious."

Layla smiled with a nod.

She offered her help, but the redhead kindly refused, reminding her of the butler she had brought along with her that day to help carry her things. Layla only walked her to the foyer with her dog following suit. Rovina bid farewell and made her way out with her dark haired butler scuttling behind her as the door shut.

The clamor of Mia's voice eluded her attention and led her into the drawing room by the foyer. Inside she found a woman sitting with her back facing to her and a cup of tea in her hands while the loquacious teen continued running her mouth.

"Hello?" she called suddenly, finding it rude to simply walk away.

The short-haired blond turned, vibrant green eyes looking her way before smiling tenderly and standing.

"I didn't expect to see you Halibel," Layla said, crossing the room to meet her halfway where they exchanged greetings.

Halibel had barely opened her mouth when her father interrupted once more. "Halibel will be staying with us until her mother summons her home," he said, crossing the room while shooing Mia away. "I'll be gone for the rest of the day on a short trip for business arrangements. When I return tomorrow morning I expect you two to be ready to depart."

"Where are we going?" Layla asked.

"A reunion of sorts," he said with a mocking smile. "Nothing for you to worry about."

He headed picked some things from the table before heading into the foyer. "Where's Sun-Sun and Szayel?"

"Oxford."

Aizen took his coat from the butler at the door and draped it over his arm as he ventured out the entrance without as much as a farewell.

Layla turned to face Halibel who leaned back against the couch with a calm expression on her face. The last time she remembered seeing her cousin was around five years ago, during her aunt's fourth visit that year, and it had been the only time she and Sun-Sun managed a non-satirical conversation with one another. The trip ended badly when the three women realized the true reason behind the constant visits, Halibel's engagement had been prepared without them knowing.

The engagement ended badly, too, within the first meeting, and Halibel was punished by her mother and banned from visiting their house in London.

"I'm surprised your mother allowed you to visit after so long."

"She needed me out of her sight," she said grimly.

"Did you do something to upset her?"

"Another expensive wedding for naught, but she can't seem to understand the value of a woman's freedom to see my understanding." Halibel lowered her eyes. "I don't want to marry."

"Do you still wish to study literature?"

"Yes."

* * *

That evening was spent in casual conversation and a reiteration of the many things the two cousins had missed in their lives. They had five years to catch up to and made the best of the night up until Mina had them both get to sleep since they would leave the manor early that morning. Layla curiously asked Mina where her father would take them and she only described it to be a gathering of sorts. She settled with that bit of information and slept the rest of the night in comfort.

Layla overslept and there was no one in that house able to wake her to save their life. Mina even tried sprinkling cold water on her, but she barely budged. She woke up on her own accord and rushed through a bath, had Halibel and Mia help her dress, and Mina hurried them through a small breakfast. They had yet to finish the food before her father arrived to escort them out of the manor and into a carriage.

The entire way, as long as it was, nobody spoke longer than two minutes at a time. When Layla asked the reason for the gathering, her father would tell her to be patient. It was late afternoon into the third day of their travel when they reached their destination.

It was a large estate outside of London without proper placement on a map, hidden behind a sea of trees. The trio had a butler take their luggage into their _side _of the home while their accommodations were prepared. She and Halibel waited in the foyer exchanging curious glances past the white and black marble beneath their feet to the stone statues aligning the hallways and the webbed paintings hanging off the walls.

"What's with all this secrecy?" Layla asked aloud.

Halibel paced around the wide space, just as curious for answers as she was. "We should be patient."

Layla pursed her lips and sauntered to the nearest statue by the entrance to a closed drawing room. She distracted herself by the sculpture of a beautifully carve woman, down to the most intimate details.

"It's lovely, isn't it?"

She turned slightly and nodded. "The décor is exquisite, even if it is only the foyer."

The doors across from them opened noisily. "Welcome."

Layla and Halibel turned to regard the scantily-clad woman in tall heels wearing only her corset and bloomers. Her long curly red tresses fell over her freckled shoulders as her thin pink lips curled into an evocative smile. She sauntered into the vestibule with her hands on the curve of her hips.

"Sorry 'bout the long wait, had other guests to entertain." She smiled coyly. "You can call me…_Clair_e. Yes, Claire." She tapped her chin thoughtfully before gesturing for them to follow her. "Your rooms are on the second floor, allow me to escort you."

"Where's my father?"

Claire stopped shortly. "He's having wine with the others. It's quite nice to see such civility between them, so they shouldn't be disturbed."

"Who would be the others?" Halibel asked.

"That's a secret, but you'll find out during the ball. I'm sure you'll all be pleasantly surprised." Claire continued leading them into the adjacent room and up a rickety staircase. The floorboards creaked beneath their heels, the railing screeched with the slightest touch. The second floor furnishings were dusty and covered in cobwebs. Some of the old paintings were pealing or ripping from the frame, a few of which were broken and white-turned-gray drapery over the gray colored walls. Coppery bowls holding fake fruit sitting inside and antique vases filled with dead flowers sat on the surface of each tables sat beside each entryway.

"Where are you taking us?"

Claire swung her hips, looking over her shoulder. "The area reserved for your family is down that archway into the other half of the house." She stopped by the arch, pushing open the rosewood doors and gesturing for them to enter the cleaner hall. "Sorry about the long walk."

The jovial woman showed them to their adjacent rooms and let them be after introducing to them the two butlers that will be working for them during their stay in the large home. Layla, once more, questioned the duration of their stay and the reason, but the woman gave her an open-ended answer without a lead to figure things out on her own. They could have been staying there for a month without knowing it, and yet no one was willing to fill them in on the details.

Layla paced around the room as her luggage was being unpacked by Will, her temporary servant. Everything was being placed separately inside a mahogany wardrobe, a gold trimmed chest lying on the other side of the gargantuan room, and the short dressers lined along the walls. There were fresh flowers decorating the, otherwise, bland room. Her bed sat in the farthest corner of the room, facing away from the window with only a nightstand sitting at its left with a bottle of wine and glasses upon its surface.

She lifted it to Will's direction. "We were provided with our own wine?"

"Gewürztraminer," the man said sheepishly as he put away her shoes in a storage lined with shelves. "It was a request of your father, it seems."

She looked at it oddly. "It'd be too early to drink."

"One can drink wine at all hours."

"I suppose you're right, but I don't drink wine very often."

He smiled lightly, finishing his job before taking a stand in front of her. "If you need anything else, I'll be standing outside. Call on me at any time."

She nodded, setting down the bottle. "Do you happen to know who else is here?"

"Quite a number of others," he answered. "I'd say more, but I'm not sure myself. I was only informed about everyone in your party." He looked towards the open window. "There should be a few guests outside. The weather is a bit colder than London, heat hasn't come settle yet. Be sure to take a shawl if you go out."

"Thank you."

Will stepped out of the room, stopping short and turning. "The ball starts at midnight in that large hall in the first floor. You'll be escorted, but I thought you should know."

_At midnight…?_ "Thank you for telling me."

After Will left, Layla neared the window to look outside. The estate was surrounded by a sea of trees and lush gardens that looked to spread all around the house rather than being situated in one place. If she leaned over enough she could see the foundation of another smaller home hidden deeper in the trees. She could make out a dirt trail from between the trees and followed it all around the garden to what seemed to be a backdoor in the large house.

Her eyes caught a number of others, none of which she recognized from the second floor, but she continued admiring the scenery, including a river that ran through the large forest. It was when she scanned the area that something caught her eye; a group of people were sitting inside the gazebo when one man slipped out. His languid form caught her attention as she followed his movements into the dirt path and eventually through the trees.

_Starrk? _Her heartbeat raced at the idea. _But, what would he be doing here?_

She didn't want to face him after what happened. She ran off like a coward and felt the unbearable guilt sinking deep in through her pours. Why couldn't she have given it some thought rather than having said the first thing that came to mind?

Layla moved away from the window and took a seat on the nearest couch with a sigh.

_I'm imagining things…at this age? How ludicrous._

* * *

It was a ridiculous notion for a ball to be held at midnight. If the benefit of it being so late had to do with keeping others from finding out about it, the trouble was for naught. No one would be aware of an event partaking in the dead of night, especially one that is held in a hidden paradise days away from London, in a town that she wasn't sure she heard of. Not that anyone took the time to tell them anymore than her butler knew, and it wasn't very much to begin with.

Layla rested for a good portion of the afternoon. She woke up at nine to bathe and wandered about her room until Will told her dinner had been served. She didn't bother getting out of her silk robe when he mentioned it was a small dinner with Halibel in the room connecting theirs together.

She ventured into the room escorted by the blond butler to see Halibel already waiting inside dressed in the formal mahogany gown for that evening. He pulled the chair out of her to sit and pushed it closer to the table.

"Did you manage any sleep?" Halibel asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"A few hours at best," Layla answered, thanking her butler after he poured her sweetened tea. "What about you?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I suppose I'll retire early tonight."

"I don't plan on staying too long either, that carriage ride exhausted me."

Halibel's eyes flickered upward. "You look pale. Do you feel ill?"

Layla shook her head as she ate. "I feel fantastic."

Once the butlers excused themselves they continued a steady conversation until finishing dinner.

Claire appeared shortly after, dressed in a low-cut violet gown with a decorative fan in her hand. She sauntered around the room exploring through every nook and cranny before stating her purpose.

"Oh, right," she said happily. "All previously arranged escorts happened to…_disappear_, you could say, and because we're very limited in the personnel department I was the only woman available to help you tie your corsets." She gave Halibel a once over before turning back to Layla with a smirk. "Well, yours in particular."

"No thanks, I'll manage."

"Don't be shy," she said, swinging her hips. "I don't bite…_unless ya want me to._"

She winked.

Layla took a step back while holding her robe shut for dear life.

"So innocent," she cooed "I think I like you."

Halibel stepped in. "Leave, _now_."

Claire laughed as she walked back out the door swinging her hips seductively. "Aint have to say it twice darling, but I'll be outside to get you to the hall safely." She reached for the door, still eyeing Layla. "If you need _anything_, just call on me."

Once the door was shut, Layla and Halibel locked eyes.

"We can be sure one of the other guests hired her for more than housecleaning," Halibel said, walking towards the corset slung over the table. "She should have some self-respect. And you shouldn't leave your corsets on tables, Layla."

"Sorry."

Halibel helped lace up her corset and didn't bother tightening as others normally would. She was fine with wearing the bodice but didn't agree to have to tighten it to the brink of asphyxiation. For that, Layla was thankful.

She dressed into a high collar black and white gown with long sleeves and a pair of white shoes. She didn't bother with her hair and left it in messy waves.

The two women met the redhead outside after getting ready and she couldn't help but say something out of hand to Layla to earn a glare out of her cousin. The trip down a secret staircase led them into a large, newly furnished hallway with a trio of scented candles on every other table. Few guests were present as they walked by and each was wearing a mask to shield their eyes, but from the way they were dressed, they could tell their families were well off.

"Why is everyone wearing a mask?"

"Some of the younglings decided it'd be fun to wear 'em, but none of the higher ups are wearing 'em, so you don't have to if you'd rather not," she said silkily. "Then again, with or without it, I could find you in a crowd darling."

Layla shuddered involuntarily, but kept her composure because the woman had pushed open the large gold doors leading into the hall. Through the crowds of colorful gowns spinning in the center of the room to the orchestra playing a calm melody she finally realized where they were standing. A congregation of important personas and a hefty security all around to ensure the safety of said people as well as the primary guests of the entire party—the trio stood far apart but couldn't have been closer: Yamamoto, Luisenbarn, and Aizen. Except, the animosity between them had diminished, as though it had never happened seeing as how there were members of each corresponding family engaging in friendly conversations with a wineglass in hand.

"Drinks?"

Layla turned to the maid holding a platter full of what looked like Pinot Noir and took two glasses."Yes, thank you."

"Well," said Claire, walking towards the nearest crowd of men, "enjoy yourselves; the festivities will be going through the morning."

Layla offered the other glass to her cousin, who kindly turned it down. "It's unsettling for everyone to be in one room."

She nodded in agreement guzzling down the first glass of wine and stepping further into the party, leaving the glass on the tray of the nearest waiter passing by.

"I think this is the gathering I've been hearing about," said Layla suddenly.

"Which?"

"They're presenting their heirs tonight," she replied, taking a sip of her wine and cringing. "But Szayel isn't here…isn't father naming him heir?"

"I see. That means the treaty will be formed today."

"Treaty?"

"I can't be certain of the credibility of this information, but it seems as though they are forming a temporary settlement to deal with the Fourth family."

She looked at Halibel incredulously. "A fourth?"

"It seems as though the recent murders have all been linked to someone attempting against our families, they're starting slow, but if they sit around and do nothing things will get out of hand."

Layla stopped in the middle of the room, a few feet from the area where everyone else was dancing to a different melody. She looked about the room in search of Starrk, if everyone else was present, he would have to be as well.

"Please excuse me."

She finished her drink and headed around the room looking for him, but she could have eyed every nook and cranny and never find him.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

**Thanks to**: rainy-lullaby, Dia de Luz, JazkaStar, Cheesebubble (oh, darling, you are such a girl), and Bara Ichimaru (I had intended one of the two slipping off, and could be even more positive that Starrk prepared some backup plan in case such a dangerous stunt occurred. Haha. Oh, these chapters are a part of my secret stash, but as of late I've been running out. D:) for reviewing! (Sorry if I didn't reply to the reviews, you see I'm very forgetful sometimes. D:)

I love this chapter from all the others I've written because of the insight on Rovina's character (more should be expected later since she plays a larger role as the story progresses) and the conversation she had with the melancholic Layla. I hated having her reject Starrk, but I felt it was something she would do against her will and better judgment, but there was so much hesitation that it made me jittery! Oh, and Halibel made an appearance. I hope to make plenty use of her in the chapters to come.

Ah, I can't wait to get into all the interesting details to this story. I feel so hyper. I should sleep.

Thank you for reading. :)


	18. The Sound of Water

**Masquerade**

Chapter 18

-_**The Sound of Water**_-

_She saw something in me_

_It was a piece of who she was, _

_And a part of whom she wanted to be_

_But, I find myself in her previous position._

_Stuck in the middle, always in the center, _

_Never where I want to be_

Halibel stayed for three hours, and she only spoke to Layla during her short stay. Layla saw her off, but returned to the ball in search of Starrk. She hadn't seen him since that time she thought she had from the second story window. It took longer than anticipated for her to realize what her actions meant. Chasing after the man she rejected couldn't seem more desperate than what she did for the entirety of the late-night gala. She could have peacefully taken the seat her father offered her. There weren't exactly any seats for anyone to occupy within the large hall, but there were few aligning the walls, pristine gold-trimmed chairs. Her father was having a conversation with Genryūsai Yamamoto and Barragan Luisenbarn when she entered the hall with her cousin. The three powerful men weren't exactly having the sort of conversation a trio of old friends had since they had years of rivalry weighing on their shoulders, but they weren't exactly trying to kill each other as they were known to do.

Aizen was known to provoke his enemies quite easily, the old Luisenbarn head especially. The long-bearded gentleman hardly took offense to the youngest provocation, oftentimes being the one to stop conflicts between Barragan and Aizen. But, he had lost his temper numerous times before, and it was said to be surprising for a sagacious man such as him. She didn't blame him. Her father's company wasn't necessarily a walk in the park. He had an air that could make the kindest man snap. He knew exactly what to say or do to cause conflict with another. He wasn't pleasant all around, but there were times, when he has been remarkably tolerable—to the extent Layla might have thought him too kind for words.

Seeing the three speaking had many spectators gossiping at every corner, wherever there weren't enough guards to overhear. Layla had to take a good look around the gargantuan room in search of the Aizen bodyguards when she spotted Ikkaku Madarame and Soifon in separate sides, both watching the every movement of each guest. She saw others standing just feet from them, guards she recognized from the mortifying experience at the engagement party with Mayor Laxton. But she was mostly glad to see that neither Soifon nor Ikkaku had been harmed or replaced for that little blunder. Szayel was probably only trying to get an amusing reaction out of her, which he did, but it wasn't praiseworthy.

She didn't approach them because she was in her father's field of vision. Instead, she continued around the area, sometimes stopping to take a glass of whatever wine was being served at the time. She made enough rounds to have tasted each one—red and white—from Pinot Noir, Verdejo, Gewürztraminer, Merlot, and Chianti, all of which she mixed with the complimentary appetizers the butlers trudged along before the tables were set. She only managed a glass of each until her search exhausted her and she sought the companionship of another. Although she usually preferred being on her own, there were few times when she needed someone to speak to, if only just a second.

The beneficiary attending the gathering included many powerful individuals, plenty of faces and names one would be stupid not to recognize. In fact, some of the most eligible bachelors were prowling around, flaunting their good looks and charm to whoever would give them the time of day, though they seemed more focused in acquiring the fancy of some of the direct descendants of the three families. So, she found herself being approached by many appealing men, who appeared at her side to boast about their fortunes and handsomeness. One man, in particular, caught her eye while she was talking to an earl from somewhere oversees. The man in question was fawned over by the other non-familiar attendees, and basing her opinion on simply looks, he had every right to receive such complementary gazes. She heard from the man at her side that he was the youngest brother of the Duke of Burgundy, an underappreciated earl with plenty of talent to snatch his kin's title but not sufficient drive. They called him Ferdinand, and he had golden hair and defined features with a demure look in those green eyes of his. He didn't look older than eighteen, but he attracted the attention of half the women in the room, including Claire's who had been conversing with a member of the Yamamoto clan.

Ferdinand merely smiled at everyone, a simple gesture and would continue on his way. His eyes met hers once, and she was hoping to feel some sort of otherworldly reaction to catching his attention for a mere second, but she felt nothing. She wanted her heart to thump in her chest cavity until everyone surrounding her heard, wished her cheeks would have managed a tinge of red, anything would suffice—she wanted her eyes to find pleasure in another than the one she quite possibly wanted. Any handsome gentleman would do. She simply wanted Starrk out of her head.

Benjamin Hall, Earl of Surrey, had kept her company for a large portion of the ball. Often asking her to dance and toasting to whatever seemed worthy of attention—mostly the beneficiary he recently received from her father that past month. He very tall with wiry graying brown hair that he wore pushed back a tangled mess. He was probably twice her age, but even with so many years on him, he had a certain distinction from other men his age—a mature air and the world's perfect charm to arouse any woman's attention. It didn't hurt that he was attractive either. His presence wasn't, by any means, imposing.

That she appreciated.

"I'm surprised the lad hasn't come asked for a dance," Benjamin said with a wide smile.

"I'm sure anyone would enjoy a dance with you."

At that, he laughed. "I was speaking on your account," he corrected himself. "You are such a lovely young woman with character."

They were still eyeing Ferdinand.

"You are such a daring old man."

He laughed heartily. "He looks quite shy," he said, taking a sip of what he claimed to be his second glass of Merlot. Layla had counted five, she was on her seventh, but that could be left unsaid. No lady should be entitled to have that much alcohol in her system, not that she felt the difference. "Hasn't even asked a girl to dance, with all those options, any man would take them all."

"You judge him too quickly, earl, I think he's making time," she answered to the young Ferdinand's defense. "He has a plan."

"Youth only lasts so long."

"I can be certain yours is still lasting." Her lips curled into a smile.

The Earl of Surrey looked very amused. "How kind of you, my lady, to express such appeal to my _youth_." He bowed his head slightly, to acknowledge undertones that weren't exactly present, but heavily hinted nonetheless. Layla merely laughed—a quiet restrained mirth to accompany that of the earl's.

"Layla Aizen, I have searched every nook and cranny to find you," called an exasperated, familiar voice behind her. She was pleasantly surprised to see Rovina Stephenson dressed in a classy shade of copper standing with her hands fixed on the curve of her waist and a daring smile on her angular face. "And here you were conversing with my dear old, Earl of Surrey."

Layla frowned slightly, but bowed out of respect of her title. "We must have been moving at an uneven pace, duchess."

"Ah, the Duchess of Cambridge, how delighted I am to see your blazing locks of hair," the Earl of Surrey clamored, bowing appropriately with the largest smile on his face while his eyes scrutinized the odd arrangement the duchess had taken to style her hair. "And what a peculiar style you have chosen to wear this evening."

Rovina seemed to have lit up with immeasurable joy while pressing a hand over the curls cascading from the large mess on top of her head. Layla couldn't find a beginning or end to the style and wasn't particularly bothered by the arrangement, only amused. "It's fabulous, is it not?"

"Extraordinary," the earl admired, taking that final sip of his Merlot before excusing himself to allow the women time to catch up. Layla waved a hand at the handsome man as he departed with a playful frown.

"And he was such a pleasure to speak to," Layla added with a sigh.

Rovina laughed, one of her enchanting titters that could manage a smile from the most frugal man, and patted her shoulder affectionately. "He is quite the flirt."

"That I cannot deny, but he is entertaining, nonetheless." She held her wineglass in both hands and scoured the room with her eyes in search of the duchess's husband before turning back to the redhead. "Is your husband attending?"

The woman had to think about it, but smiled. "He should be pacing the hall somewhere." Her eyes also searched the hall until she spotted him and pointed in his direction, ever so slightly. "Oh, there he is, flirting with a new woman it seems."

And he was.

The Duke of Cambridge stood by a pleasantly attractive woman in blue. His clear eyes were fixed on her bosom and the natural radiance the young woman displayed. She seemed quiet for the most part, strawberry blond hair, plump lips, and large eyes. Her cheeks were reddened from the constant compliments the Duke was famous for using to charm unsuspecting women. And she didn't recognize the woman at all, which meant she was probably visiting from overseas. She had prominent features and a delicate, sensible look. She certainly didn't look English, but she could be wrong.

Rovina's duke was every bit handsome as he was the last time she had the pleasure of meeting him. He was blond and blue eyed, always perfect, down to the last detail with wardrobe and his golden ponytail. Tall, broad shoulders, thin lips, and a sultry voice—those were Rovina's favorite characteristic's of her husband; in fact they were everyone's.

"He truly has no shame," Layla cursed beneath her breath.

Rovina merely smiled, and that's where she noted something was definitely wrong with her friend. She would have normally worn a defeated expression, but today she was exuberant like nothing in the entire world could harm her.

"Is something wrong?"

The redhead giggled, taking a hold of Layla's arm and linking it to hers while leading her towards the nearest exit. "This is something best discussed away from the congregation. Do you mind?"

Layla shook her head, feeling her face warm up along with the rest of her body. She could be sure it wasn't the alcohol. "It's a bit stuffy here."

"I can't agree more."

The duchess led her out of the gargantuan hall, through the barren walkways, past many other rooms towards the nearest exit to the garden. Few guests were outside, a whole group of them in the gazebo to the left and most of them seemed to be prominent members of the Luisenbarn family, though some looked miserable attending. She recognized Starrk's pallid cousin standing to leave, Ulquiorra, the doctor that treated her during the time she spent in their vacationing home. He didn't seem to bother excusing himself, seeing as a beautiful, jovial woman called for him to return. He simply ignored her.

Rovina led Layla further into the garden, where the baby's breath had mixed with the colorful carnations and even farther from earshot. The redhead, unlike she was early that week, had the largest smile imaginable. She was positively glowing, almost dreamily, if possible.

It was then that Layla understood. There was only one time that the duchess had been that way, and it was after a beautiful young man had returned one of the ribbons she dropped. She didn't take his name because her husband was accompanying her, and the fact that the boy was too young, sixteen, she claimed but never asked.

"You've met someone," Layla suddenly said.

"I met someone," Rovina repeated, the glee plastered on her face.

"Oh, duchess," she sighed.

"I haven't asked his name," she stated, holding a hand up disappointedly, "but he was kind and handsome and quite agreeable, and _very_ single."

Layla merely went along with the duchess's encounter. It would just be that. Her loyalty to her husband could outlast any curious infatuation, and she wouldn't even think twice about infidelity considering the act had been committed against her. She wouldn't be able to handle something like that. It was emotional, and as strong as she usually seemed, there were certain things she had yet to conquer.

"How did you meet?"

They met quite simply. Rovina and her husband had just arrived, a bit earlier than normal because the duke wished to speak to his benefactor before the guests started piling in. She was left to her own devices, without another word from her husband, and she took a good look around the room. There were few guests already in attendance, excluding the bodyguards, and after she had grown tired of walking, she took a seat. Incidentally, the handsome gentleman was sitting at her side with a glass of water in his hands. And Rovina is a curious woman by nature. She began the conversation, asking if he had no interest in the choice of wine, but he answered that he wasn't feeling well enough to drink any. Their small exchange turned into a light conversation, one that had surely lightened up her day.

"We spoke for hours," she clamored. "He was such a sweet man. I don't think I've ever met such a kind, sensible man such as he. Oh, had I not been married I would have flirted!"

Layla laughed.

"It would have showed that evil husband of mine!"

"I'm very curious about this mystery man."

"It could be someone you know; you seem knowledgeable of people in the families."

Layla looked surprised. "You believe he belong to one of the families?"

"Well, he did look very friendly with Yamamoto," she answered. "They had been talking before I met with you, it didn't seem too businesslike, and so I figured he was a grandson or something."

"Hmm, I'd have to see to name this man."

"Why don't we have a final look around?"

Layla was reluctant at first, already exhausted from all the festivities, but went along with the redhead, back to the gathering they abandoned in search of this mystery man. By the time they arrived, the hall had piled up with more guests they never realized were attending, making it difficult to find the man who took the duchess's breath away—an obvious understatement.

Instead, the two decided to sit back and converse with a group of important people, most of which they talked business with, Layla in particular. She was knowledgeable of many methodical things on her father suggestion. She wasn't exactly interested, but didn't have a choice in the matter either. But during talks such as those, it was good to know that she wasn't completely in the dark about business matters. Many of them were impressed, but most thought it was improper for a woman to have such comprehension. That's when the duchess interjected and praised her for having an uncanny talent for playing the piano, to divert the scrutiny.

The group took interest in said talent and asked for her to play a little on the grand piano in the large mansion. She kindly declined the proposal, but was urged by all of them, Rovina especially, and she had trouble saying no to her redheaded friend. After much heckling, she accepted.

"One composition," she said. "I cannot amount to the praise given to me by the duchess, but I will do my best."

Benjamin Hall, who joined the group in time for the idea, led the way to the piano room. The room was large enough to house many as a concert hall with its large piano sitting at the farthest corner, the focal point of the entire area.

Layla moved to it, embarrassed about playing before so many people. She only accepted one-person audiences, never a group of them. She knew she was bound to make a mistake with so many eyes fixed on her. But she didn't stand back.

One composition wasn't too harsh, she told herself as she took a seat on the small bench before it. She touched the ivory keys in awe. The piano was truly magnificent. Once she was sure all the keys were in tune, she spread her arms apart and began to play. She chose something simple, that she could get through quickly without blunders that could mortify her, a musical composition she knew from the top of her head.

She was so nervous she could faint. She held her breath and tried to smile whenever she caught the eye of someone. Everything was silent except the sound of music.

Her little concert ended quickly, and she received praise she wasn't sure she deserved.

"It was divine," the duchess said, rubbing Layla's shoulder after she expressed what a nerve-wrecking experience it had been. "You were superb, Layla, much better than you were the last time you played for me."

She had been practicing for so long since she rejected Starrk. She was glad something good came out of it, though she wasn't sure she should even feel that way. One of their companions took a seat at the piano and said he would entertain them for a few minutes while they mingled.

With the sound of classical music encasing the large room, Layla found her eyes wandering around the white painted walls and glossy floors. There was hardly any furniture, save the piano and a Persian rug underneath homely blue and black-trimmed couches sitting across one another. When she glanced out the open door, she saw a familiar figure pass wearing a dirty coat.

Her heart stopped.

_Starrk_.

She turned to Rovina quickly. "Excuse me, I feel a little lightheaded. I think I'll step out for some air."

"I can go with," she offered.

Layla shook her head, but appreciated the notion as she stormed out of the room to chase after the viscount. She hadn't been sure if it was him from the start, but from her end of the hallway, she was positive. She rushed after him, thinking about how to call out to him. Would it be proper for her to call him by his name or title? She settled for the latter.

"Viscount," she called, exhausted and holding her gown so it wouldn't be stepped on.

Starrk stopped and turned with a mild expression on his face. She was standing right in front of him, dropping the skirt of her gown and fiddling with the ribbons on it as she waited for him to say something. When he didn't, she began.

"I, uhm, well—how have you been viscount?" she asked nervously.

"Would you like to accompany me somewhere?" He avoided the question.

Layla forced a smile. There wasn't any comfort between them, that was obvious to any onlooker, but she tried her best to ease into something that would probably never exist. She felt the slightest bit of excitement after he asked so earnestly and seriously.

"Yes, please." She would have normally complained since they were in the middle of festivities, but who was she to speak.

Starrk offered his arm to her, and she couldn't help but stare with amazement. "Let's go."

She gave herself the push to take it, wrapping her own around his and feeling the warmth radiating from him. He led the way out the mansion without speaking another word. He merely held her by the arm, his eyes focused on wherever it was he was taking them. She didn't even have the courage to ask. She felt a need to wait until he spoke before she said something after she offended him that night. She didn't feel very deserving of his presence either, but he would have to understand her reason. They were enemies, but if they weren't…_well, then what?_

The same individuals occupied the gazebo sitting amongst the rosebushes, all of them eyeing them in scrutiny, except the few women amid the group of men. One of the taller males of the group was standing, leaning into the pale white archway of the entrance, one leg on the first step down, with an unnervingly satisfied smirk on his face. His narrow eyes seemed to just consume the scene of the two stepping over the blue hydrangea and into the small path leading to the forest. She felt unsettled with the unfamiliar man's and held onto Starrk's arm tightly, earning an odd look from him until he noticed the man staring.

"Ignore him," he muttered indifferently, continuing into the path where the tiniest bit of light from the gazebo shown.

He was strange. Too unlike himself to feel very comfortable around, but she wanted to be in his presence, she was sure of it. At least until she could muster a proper apology. She didn't want to accompany him if he felt awkward with her, and she couldn't blame him. She wouldn't be out of line by demanding a response or proper attention.

She forced herself not to think too much into the situation. She wronged him. He had every right to act however he wished. Who was she to judge?

The thought jabbed at her insides for clarity. She couldn't shake the fear away.

She hardly gave enough attention to the direction he propelled her toward, only recognized the dirt path beneath her feet and the crunch of grass and twigs once they slipped through a pair of looming trees. Starrk pushed branches away with his free hand the bit of light still filtering into the trees from the chandelier in the gazebo, leading them further into seclusion, away from scrutinizing gazes, far from the sounds of classical music and gossip.

She could feel droplets of water fall onto her as they passed the clutter of trees, nearing the sound of running water—a river she guessed. She knew the bottom of her dress was getting muddied, knew her heels were caked in dirt along with her feet, could tell her hair would be a mess from the constant droplets, but didn't offer her complaints to the man. She did make the occasional grunt of disdain from the squelch in her feet, and she felt her need to voice her opinions after they had been walking through nature for more than five minutes without the sight of anything but a new clutter or elms. The pricking leaves brushing against her cheeks, leaving strokes of water, but she heard the sound of the river getting louder.

Layla remained quiet, unable to let go of his arm…only hold it tighter. He didn't seem to mind; else he may have said something. He might have been trying to seem kind by letting her do it, being a gentleman by leading her properly. She didn't think she cared what the reason was.

"It was raining when I arrived," he finally spoke, the sounds getting louder with each step. "I didn't consider it being so…droopy after the heat set in this afternoon."

She lowered her gaze, to her ruined gown. "How long have you been here?"

"Three days," he answered. "Your family came last, the Yamamoto were first. They've been here since the preparations began. Guess the old man's got nothing better to do with his time."

"And the beneficiary?"

"Not longer than you have."

He pushed through a final clutter of branches, having to let go of her arm to get through what seemed like a slope. When she looked down, she could see the rushing water and submerged in it were a few flat rocks to get across the river to a group of stones sitting over the leaf-covered dirt ground. One of the rocks seemed to have a smoother surface than the others, it was longer too, and it dipped into the river slightly. Once he helped her past the small slope she realized the river ran further down, sloshing over a small cascade and into a concave.

Starrk turned to face her when he stood before the small, flat rocks splayed over the shallow surface to the other side. "I'll help you cross," he said, holding out his hand to her.

She was tentative at first, but his calm expression coaxed her into following his lead. She placed her hand in his and he gave her a healthy jerk, forcing her to scramble onto the first step. She ambled for composure, her hands flinging until they landed on his strong shoulders, her cheeks warming when they felt his own at the small of her waist.

"Careful," he whispered, low enough for his voice to reach her ears.

She gulped, but nodded obediently.

He helped her cross, though she had been on edge the entire two minutes it had taken. When they reached the other side, he let go of her and took a seat on the flat rock with a sigh.

She stood beside him, not knowing what to do except stand awkwardly and look about the place. The smell of water, moss, mud, and the sweet scent of flowers and wood filled the air. The sound of water drowned out her noisy thoughts, and after a few minutes of having spent before the river and amongst the trees…she almost forgot her affliction.

Starrk didn't say anything apart offering his help and sighing.

Layla was finally exhausted with the petty awkwardness building up between them that she simply snapped. "Is there a reason you have asked me here?" Her voice was terse, reminiscent to their first meetings. "Or are you simply wasting my time?"

He didn't regard her. "Neither."

He hardly spoke afterward and she had grown tired while he hadn't. She felt the guilt flood her insides after remembering. She wondered why he would take the time to ask her out, but didn't bother speaking. She wanted answers, but wasn't sure how to get them. She was at a complete loss. She felt sick all at once, knew she paled underneath the faint illumination as the sun began filtering in. She was lightheaded and dizzy, her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she took a seat as far from him as possible on the adjacent stone.

She didn't want to start a conversation, but if the silence dwindled any longer she knew she would lose her temper and storm away. She wouldn't even manage getting through the area without his guidance. She was suddenly feeling like a child—a whiny, stubborn, indecisive child that couldn't tell left from right and wouldn't accept the help of another because of her pride. Things couldn't get any worse. She was sure of it.

So, Layla took a risk.

"Can I apologize?"

"No."

Her heart palpitated. "Did I upset you?"

"I expected worse."

"How much worse?" she asked, her face lightening.

But he never said more.

Layla's newly found confidence dwindled, and her eyes glistened underneath the rising sun.

Her mouth formed a tight frown; she finally stood and took the first few steps away from him. "I'm leaving."

Starrk stood quickly, his face unreadable. "I'll escort you back."

She whipped around as she took a step onto the first stone. "Don't force yourself," she sneered, moving past them as quickly as she could, leaving him with words in his mouth.

He had every right to be upset, but to call her out as he did without reason and even go as far as refusing to let her apologize—that she wouldn't tolerate. He could go on doing as he wished, but she did not plan for a second to sit there and let him enjoy torturing her.

Starrk didn't follow her. And she felt incredibly selfish for looking so surprised when she realized it.

* * *

Layla went straight to her chambers, ordering for her startled butler to run a bath for her, which he jumped into as quickly as the words left her lips. He didn't question the reason for her disheveled clothes. She appreciated it, and even went as far as telling him to keep her condition a secret between them.

That late morning, after Will confirmed everyone had retired to their accommodations, Layla tried her best to sleep with the drapes closed shut. But throughout her rest she realized she was feverish and nightmare-prone. She would let out shuddering breaths and could barely keep still underneath the sheets, let alone awaken properly.

She remembered nothing following that evening, only a stream of images that filtered through her mind of a foggy day she recalled the clearest from all her childhood memories and the shadow of a man that swore to protect her from any harm. She could still hear Rye and Roxanne's incessant crying, the sound of her mother's worn-out voice fading, and more importantly her father claiming that if the girl belonged to anyone, it would be him.

She cried that lone afternoon when no one could wake her.

* * *

There was a doctor present reiterating her symptoms and his diagnosis. She heard the sound of his kind voice speaking clearly to the people standing by her bedside. She was anemic and felt her heart racing faster than she could keep track of, but that was something her father had been aware of since she was a child. Aside from the obvious, something she gathered bothered her father after he dismissed the man's words; she had a cold which explained the high fevers. He offered changing her diet, but her father already told him that she was on a strict diet to prevent iron deficiency. The kind man sighed in defeat, leaving medicine to help with her cold, advising that she get enough sleep and eat nutritious meals.

She opened her eyes just barely to see the longhaired gentleman stand from the edge of her bed. She followed him with her gaze, her bleary vision allowing her to see Halibel standing by the bedpost with an arm curved around it and eyes watching the doctor speaking, and then noticed her father standing with his back turned. She hardly recognized the doctor, but could tell he belong to one of the other families. _The Yamamoto maybe_, she figured as she closed her eyes again, not hearing another word that came out of the professional's mouth.

She wondered how long she would be there as she drifted back to sleep.

It felt like she had no control of her body for those days. She understood her condition had worsened because she refused to eat properly for so long.

Layla woke up during various intervals, whenever someone came to visit, but she noticed Halibel kept her company the most. The blond woman took a seat in an armchair by the bed, her eyes either on her sleeping form or staring out the window. And whenever the time came, she was the one to help her bathe…only to make sure she wouldn't faint as she had earlier that day.

Her father was present once, sitting on the bed besides her drinking the red wine at her bedside. He never looked her way while she was awake.

Will came by to wake her for lunch, but she barely had enough strength to sit up and didn't have the right appetite to eat what he brought. She had a taste of desert, small squares of pineapple, and managed to eat three of them before sinking back into the sheets to shake off the cold.

Claire visited once or twice a day, she couldn't recall, and offered to cover for Halibel for the night. Layla merely nodded when asked for permission, she only wanted her cousin to rest after keeping her company for so long. The redhead talked with another person, someone who spoke in whispers, before she would step out.

She dreamt peacefully after that, but she could barely tell everything apart to tell if she were dreaming or awake. Images only flickered across her mind, especially when her cold worsened.

When Layla came again during the night, she noticed someone else lying in the bed besides her. She could barely make out the form of a man underneath her covers with the dim candlelight.

She squinted, her breathing heavy, and the sound of the sheets rustling underneath her. She held her hand out, touching his face and recognizing the features after feeling them. Her heart sped in her ribcage, nearly jumping into her throat.

"Starrk," she barely whispered.

He nodded.

"Why are you here?" she asked weakly.

He moved close enough to whisper, to come into the light for her to see. His eyes were closed. "You're dreaming."

She couldn't tell if she was or not. So she asked.

"You're definitely dreaming, Layla."

"But, I'm still sick…and tired."

He reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

She curled up, her body shaking as she cried once again. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I cannot express how sorry—"

"I know."

Starrk only showed up in her dreams once, and she remembered still being hazy.

She felt better by the fourth day, eating often—almost everything—and full of energy. Enough to attend yet another important gathering that would be held during the weekend, but she spent most of her time in the drawing room connecting her room with her cousin's in Halibel's company, and at times Duchess Rovina's. The redhead seemed too excited to remember her husband. Layla and Halibel kept her entertained with card games and great pastries they personally ordered. And Layla was somewhat glad that the duchess didn't mention the mystery man, even in Halibel's absence.

Rovina merely did as she was used to, doted on her worthless husband. She spoke wonders of the man, though she knew he was very undeserving of praise because all he had done since they arrived was flirt with a young woman named Scarlett, a girl from Germany present on her parent's account who worked closely with the Aizen.

When Rovina asked about her, Layla couldn't will herself to talk about Starrk. She was too embarrassed to even thing about it, but the redhead brought it up.

"He thinks highly of you, my darling," she said. "He may be a bit reserved, but this is quite possibly the first time he's showed interest in a woman."

"You forget he's a Luisenbarn, Rovina," Layla stated, annoyed. "He is not a man I should set my eyes on."

Rovina smirked. "So, if he wasn't a Luisenbarn, you wouldn't have trouble accepting him?"

Layla's cheeks flushed red. "I never said that."

"Have you developed feelings for this man, Layla?" the redhead asked. Her voice was full of concern and eagerness. "You should have no shame in admitting them. Women fall in love all the time, so he couldn't possibly be your last."

Layla leaned into her comfortable seat, holding her tea in her hands. "The story is quite long."

"Then I am all ears." The duchess set aside her cup. "Please begin whenever you are ready."

She took a tentative sip from her sweetened tea before setting it down besides the duchess, and she took a deep breath before telling her everything down to the last detail. She spoke about all the times she and Starrk spent together, that he always brought her flowers and he ultimately gave her Vinny as a gift, and that she couldn't stop her feelings from kicking up a storm. She wasn't sure if she could resent him any longer because he seemed so harmless. He paved a picture so perfectly, it was hard to resist the temptation, but she held onto her family title instead.

She was afraid of angering her father. She saw what he was capable when she was a child, and adamantly refused to go through another nightmare for a man, but she didn't mention this to the duchess. She never spoke of that part of her past, though everyone knew that whoever her mother was, it wasn't someone necessarily beneficial to her father. Everyone was curious. They knew about her siblings. Ilforte was a product of his first marriage, a woman of high status and favor. Sun-Sun was the daughter of an important Countess. Szayel's mother was the late Duchess of Lorraine. And Layla, she was the daughter of a Romani. Even so, he went through the trouble of securing her future by his side, by force. Nobody was supposed to know, but she was sure the families found out of their own accord. Sun-Sun and Layla couldn't be fraternal twins; Fallon treated them too differently for her to seem like a loving mother of two. Starrk found out. He knew everything she didn't want others to know.

Speaking of him made her heart sink, stomach feel sick, and her eyes drop. She wasn't sure what her feelings towards him could be considered. She enjoyed his company. That was all she knew.

"He asked to court you." Rovina paused, after digesting everything that had been discussed. "And you rejected him?" It took time for her to assimilate that particular event. "Oh, Layla, you can be so dense." She was treating her like a child for committing a foolish mistake and was shaking her head in grievance of what might have been. "When will you realize the severity of what you have done?" She didn't murder him, so she had a hard time comprehending, more so because the duchess didn't allow a word of protest from her between accusations. "If he took the risk of asking you to court him, he obviously had plans to disguise it from your families. He's doesn't seem like the type who would storm into a room full of guest to express his plans to someday marry you."

Her face was redder than the woman's hair and her hands were shaking with anxiety. "I tried to apologize."

"He had every right to refuse; in fact, I don't understand why he even bothered speaking to you by the river after you were so inconsiderate," the duchess scolded. "His feelings are clearly stronger than what one would expect, but…one can't be certain of their extent."

The conversation made her feel worse, but she needed to hear the words and she hoped she could resist crying.

Layla shook her head. "I shouldn't pursue this."

"But you want to."

"I won't pursue this."

Rovina frowned. "Seek him out during the gathering this weekend and speak to him in private," she said, not necessarily a suggestion. "Think about your feelings until then. You haven't yet decided, that I can tell by looking at your face."

The duchess left shortly after.

Layla returned to her bedroom considering following the older woman's advice. She wasn't sure what to do.

She dropped onto her bed and suspired, eyes staring up blankly.

_Think about your feelings until then. You haven't yet decided, that I can tell by looking at your face_.

She lay there motionless for what seemed like hours taking Rovina's advice into account. Her heart was thudding lightly, escalating the longer she reflected on her actions and flux of emotions. And as the redheaded woman's words rang in her head, she understood her frustration…almost too clearly.

Mistakes.

The duchess committed too many to count with her all her fingers, and she felt that somewhere along the way, she too was falling into a trench full of mistakes. But the thought remained fresh in her mind while a new notion tugged at her insides.

Why was Rovina Stephenson set on pushing the two together?

The longer she mulled things over, the more it started shaping up like an ulterior motive. It was all a plan to set both families for ruin. It would be the talk of the town for years to come. Life would never be the same, but the Luisenbarn would get what they had always wanted—to ruin the Aizen family.

Layla covered her face in shame, her lips forming a tight line and her eyes screwing shut.

She didn't want to think of the duchess that way.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Many thanks to: rainy-lullaby, Dia de Luz, Jazka Star, and cheesebubble for reviewing the previous chapter.

Updating early because I feel the weekend will be mighty busy and wanted to avoid forgetting to do so on Saturday (as expected). The chapter was a little tougher this week. I had it written already, but for some reason the events in the chapter didn't seem well placed. I mean, for some reason as I read it, I believed it, but the pace was so fast I was like, "Who wrote this?" It's an awesome chapter, and it's the now Ch 19. Hopefully the events in this one can fall into the next without problems, but I feel that I may just end up writing another chapter in between and keep pushing it back. I'll revise the next chapter on Monday, when there is room for me to do so, and if I see no wrong in the flow...then it will probably be up next Saturday. (I wouldn't want to post and delete it 'cause it didn't fit, so yeah!)

Anyhow, a whirl of characters are going to be introduced within the next few chapters in this setting, most in name, while those that actually interact with the important lot of characters will play larger roles in the later chapters (though, I suspect, since it's me we're talking about, a lot of them are probably going to end up dead with those murderers killing the beneficiary - there will be more on the death count later, and on the elusive "Fourth Family"!). And, more Bleach characters will be introduced as well, we'll be delving into Yamamoto's side during the time.

Also, was this too long? Is my pace too slow? How's everyone feeling the mood? Did I take too much space for ramblings? (Yes. Yes, you did.) D:

Harhar, y'all don't need to answer, but yeah...me and my little knickknacks (sound perverted enough for you? It does to me.).

Thank you for reading. :)


	19. Whispers in the Dark

**Masquerade**

Chapter 19

-_**Whispers in the Dark**_-

_I doubt how strong you feel for me._

_You have not come since spring._

_Before that it had been a year._

_How unhappy are you?_

_No letters, no words for me to rely on—_

_Only the words you whispered to me_

_Five years, and they are the keepers of my love._

Layla sat and pondered for hours about nonsense and things that seemed less like nonsense. None making particularly sane sense, but when she perceived her state of mind from a different perspective, the nagging doubt that the current motion of her life was shaping into a bigger, more intricate picture frightened her. She understood the consequences of becoming practical royalty as a member of the Three Families; you were hated, feared, or conspired against. Nothing was safe. Nothing could be casual, even between them—unless it's during a peaceful period between them, which is hardly the case. There were years where running into members could turn deadly. That was the reason guards were hired to trail them, especially trained and sworn to secrecy just like every other company, individual, or worker was. The bonds formed were almost permanent, like a birthmark that could never be removed. Her fear was inculpable. Thinking about being romantically interested in Starrk of the Luisenbarn was definitely frightening, like a thousand knots with only one person to undo each one at a time.

She delved in the idea, she would admit, but taking it further, to the point where he wished was merely impossible—absurd even. She heard the story about the union between the Yamamoto and Luisenbarn, how it managed upon the worst consequences, and that the child that was born out of that love had been the biggest shame.

_"I am very serious about my desire to make you mine."_

_"Even if I had the desire, I wouldn't allow it. Our families can't mix—"_

_Starrk stood and stepped closer to her until he towered over her slightly, his eyes gleaming underneath the moonlight. "Our families mixed upon my birth—there is no reason for you to continue finding excuses circumventing the outcome of this event," he said, attempting to level his tone to mask the powerful emotion behind it. There seemed to be some reluctance hindering his better judgment. Where he saw clarity, he could see her face, but in front of rejection, unlike how he planned things happening without reproach or intervals for emotions, he felt adamant about getting through it all as quickly and painless as possible. But it ached, regardless. "You can either accept or refuse my proposal."_

_She could no longer hear his final words, her mind barely wrapping around the information he spewed at such a crucial moment and for a mere second it overshadowed her pitiful emotions. _

_"Y-you are…?" She trailed off; covering her red lips with the satin white glove on her hand without care of the stain left behind and pointed at him with her other hand in shock of the revelation. Her eyes scanned his form, reasoning, recalling that the child he told her about was him. Everything made sense with newfound knowledge. He was…the consequence of Barragan's daughter and Yamamoto's nephew. "You've been through all of that, yet you want to risk reliving what your parents did by proposing this to me."_

_"There's a way to avoid everything if you accept."_

_"I don't want to suffer anymore than I already have!" she cried desperately. "It's enough for me to feel at fault with my family. I don't need to have to feel the resentment this offer can lead to. I couldn't possibly stand it."_

The idea that he had been through such a life made her stomach sink. The fact that he lived through everything he had undergone as a child to be where he was that day, able to smile and lay about without a care—she could not fathom it. She tried to be peaceful, but she only managed a nervous attempt. She could never manage what he has done, even with her past. It ached all the same. She truly did not believe she could handle the thought of being in such a situation, whatever it had been that his parents had gone through. Secrets did not last among the families; they lived their lives in a wide open space where others enjoyed picking at the way they chose to live. Everyone knew everything about them. There was not one place that did not know about them.

She could not accept him. She swore she would never. If she had, it would be them against all odds. She could shatter under the pressure, break like fragile porcelain, stop breathing with eyes screwed shut. She refused to risk the tranquility she acquired. It had taken years for her to get used to the luxurious life her father introduced her to, it took a lengthy amount of time for her to be brought up as a proper lady, to be taught manners, given a solid education, and the piano lessons that she was granted after years of showing progress with her speech. She no longer spoke like a common street rat, but a young woman of class—she remembered the words clearly as they had left her governess's mouth. How pitiful the pain felt knowing they managed to change her from the girl her mother raised to be to someone she barely recognized in her reflection. She wasn't sure how to handle her obstacles.

Layla moved away from her perch, taking a glass of wine from the round table and shooting one final glance out the open window. A handful of flowers had already begun to wilt under the crisp, cold wintry days; the branches of the various trees were glazed with iridescent ice that shown a variety of bright reds and violets of mere reflections. Instead of growing warmer as Will predicted, the temperature continued to drop, turning the concave into a winter wonderland overnight. Visitors who ventured out into the garden to meet in the well-lit gazebo during congested evenings wore their warmest coats; indoors the butlers and maids would prepare the fireplaces. All dinners weary heavy in meat and tea was served as an alternative to wine (though many of them preferred drinking alcohol to warm themselves in such dreary weather).

Dinner for the three families was hosted at different times. The beneficiary were served at six, the clutter of visitors sat at a long bronze table that could hold over fifty guests in the larger hall—it was specifically used for them. The Yamamoto had dinner at seven, the Luisenbarn at eight, and her family at nine, though it was odd for anyone to eat at that time. She and Halibel took their dinners in the connecting drawing room. Her father only left his chambers to meet with the leaders of the rival clans. Except, that evening, she decided to have her dinner in the main hall with her cousin, who agreed to meet her there shortly after a bath. Halibel had taken a walk outdoors, hiking through the sea of trees in the company of her butler and a bodyguard. Her boots and bottom of her dress were caked in mud; the dirt path had turn to mush with the shift in weather.

Layla left her chambers, handing an empty wineglass to Will and asking to have the fireplace set up for her return. She made her way through the long, deserted walkways. She fiddled with the ribbons hanging from her crimson gown, attempted to tie them according to _Claire's _instruction, though the scantily-clad redhead asked to be called _Lexie_ for the evening.

"Layla."

The click of heels stopped halfway towards the staircase and she pivoted to look over her shoulder at the sound of her name. She stared at the dashing man in shock, hands dropping at her side as the anxiety set in. Starrk lethargically leaned against the wall besides the archway leading to his families half of the manor. He looked as though he was on his way out since he wore a long coat over his usually unkempt attire. His shoulder length hair was left to frame the sharp angles of his face, and his eyes bore into her with the same intensity they knowingly did. She took a step back, the wave of anger creeping back after she remembered the short, awkward silence they shared by the river.

She offered him an indifferent stare, even though he was the subject of all her thoughts and dreams. "Will you be inviting me to yet another exotic location to leave me a talking fool?"

Starrk moved towards her. "It's not very exotic," he said calmly, offering his hand to her, "but it serves its purpose."

Layla huffed and whirled around taking the first few steps of victory when Starrk took her hand. He held it tightly as he pulled her struggling form down the archway to the Luisenbarn corridors, and further into another walkway, curving around the first set of bedrooms.

"I have no interest in the exoticness of wherever you plan on taking me," she whispered harshly, attempting to keep her complaints to a minimum. She had been dragged into enemy territory, so raising a ruckus was the last thing she needed.

He ignored her, still leading the way to their mysterious destination. Though it didn't take long for her to realize such a place never existed. He merely took her to the farthest balcony in the wide hall, where the two could be away from anyone's vantage point in a dark, filthy corner where the moonlight served to illuminate the hall in thin streams of light.

"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded.

Starrk dropped her hand, pushing open the glass doors of the balcony and gesturing for her to step onto the platform. She reluctantly complied, curious about where his actions would lead, but nevertheless fearful.

"Stand here against the wall; sit on the ledge if you wish." With that, he tried stepping back indoors, both hands on the handles about to close the glass doors when she reacted.

"I will not stand nor sit until you tell me what this is all about!" She somehow let her imagination get the best of her after spending a second on the balcony, believing that would be her last living memory, and that it would be forever known as the tragic space where a Luisenbarn male left the Aizen woman outside the manor to freeze to death after she refused to allow him to court her. Although the thought seemed a little demeaning to Starrk, she couldn't help it when it crossed her mind, sending a frightening tremor down her spine.

She panicked, pushing against the door with wide-eyes.

"Trust me." He removed her obstructing hands, shut the doors, and clicked the lock.

She felt miserable for not trusting his words. When had he ever done her wrong? He also didn't seem like the type of man to let a woman stay in the freezing cold too long. Her stomach sunk, throat felt dry, eyes watered as they awaited impending doom when he finally spoke.

"I don't plan to harm you, if that's what you're thinking." His voice was slightly muffled, but aside from the drop in volume, she could make him out entirely. She figured it would do the same for herself.

"Haven't you noticed how _warm _the weather is? In time, I'll roast to death," she stated sardonically.

She plopped down on the ledge, arms crossed over her chest holding her body to keep the warmth from slipping from her limbs. She lifted her gaze from the tiled floor to the doors to see Starrk fumbling with the buttons of his coat. She sighed, hearing the click of the lock and the rustling of his coat as it was removed from his body. He propped open the door a bit, offering it to her with a considerate gaze.

"The weather was a lot warmer when the plan had been devised."

Layla jerked the coat from his hand, mumbling a thank you as she slipped it over her shoulders, and he shut the door again. Another chill ran through her body, forcing a shudder out of her. She leaned into the wall, her cheek brushing against the fabric of Starrk's coat and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, his scent strong on his clothes.

"Sorry."

She lifted her gaze from the ground and wrapped the coat around her tightly. Her chest fluttered, cheeks reddened with the whisk of cold air against her face as she listened to him speak.

"What is stopping you?"

She sighed, exasperated. "Stop,' she stated, remembering the moment of his rejection and the grim expression on his face. She could swear she knew he had a similar look on his face as he stood besides the double glass doors.

"I want to k—"

"This is the last thing I wish to speak of," she interjected. "Say anything, but stop reminding me of that day."

There was a long silence between them.

She stared off in the distance beyond the balcony, to the endless rows of trees glistening with ice.

"You're holding back because you're afraid," he began quietly, the sound of his muffled voice barely audible. She listened anxiously, the words stinging. "You have a fear of disappointing and/or angering others. You function in a way that you can please everyone somehow. It's the reason why you ignored me upon recognizing me as a member of the Luisenbarn clan. You told yourself that your father would be livid if you mixed with people from rival clans, so you kept your distance and put up a wall to stop others from approaching you. But you're nothing like that."

Her eyes widened and she bolted out of her seat, fingers coiling over the fabric of his coat. "How insulting," she said snappishly. "You know nothing of me."

"You're defensive."

She stormed towards the door and jerked the handle noisily. "Open this door this instant." She jiggled it with more force and kicked the glass doors after Starrk refused to answer to her calls. "Viscount, I am not playing games. I will break the doors if necessary."

"You needn't be so defensive. In fact, it must be troublesome for you to continue hiding as you are."

"Starrk, open these doors this instant!" she cried, ignoring his nonsense. She only wanted to get as far from him as possible when she started feeling the ache in her chest and the tears itching the rims of her eyes. She refused to acknowledge his words, standing by her decision that she turned her apprehension into frustration. "I don't have time to deal with you."

"I'm only asking for a few minutes of your time."

"Be proper about it, don't drive me out of the manor and lock the doors," she stated, kicking the glass doors again and letting go of the cold handle. "I can at least be considerate about listening to you."

She waited patiently for him to say something when she noticed him move towards the doors to unlock them. He pulled open the door, and she tentatively stepped inside with a glare directed towards him. Her lips trembled from the exposure to the cold weather and she kept the coat wrapped around her arms tightly, noting the difference in temperature once the door was shut behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes on the viscount's handsome profile, and acted as she usually would in a tight situation. She was curious about the rest of Starrk's observations, how he audaciously decided to define her as a people-pleaser, but at the same time wished to continue turning a blind eye towards the reality of his words.

"My time is very limited, please make this quick."

Starrk stood before her once more with the same determination he displayed that night on the London Bridge, hidden slightly in the long shadows cast along the corner of the hall, the candles incandescent glow left strides of light that merely touched his ankles, but she swore she saw him perfectly underneath the moonlight shining through the glass doors. An image blurred of color with dark shadows cast along the length of his body, his eyes locked with hers as his lips parted.

"I can give you any life you desire, Layla," he began, almost as if life were a flower he could get from any vendor. There was firmness in his tone, the desire he spoke of that late night portrayed as clear as day, the same desire she feared to acknowledge—an inkling of feeling that was buried underneath a clutter of consequence and the betrayal she would be committing to her clan. "You needn't fear the consequences if we continue in secrecy. No one will suspect this courtship were you to formally accept me. Trust me."

Layla stared, surprised. She dropped her arms at her side and averted her eyes. "How can you so easily display such affection for a woman like me?"

"I've met who you truly are," he answered quietly.

She stayed silent, accepting such a simple response without reproach.

"I am very adamant with my desire to make you mine," he continued. "Accepting a rejection is something I'm not willing to do at this stage."

She swallowed hard, feeling her body trembling anxiously as the words sunk in and he stepped towards the light shining through the doors. Her eyes glistened in understanding and her heart beat with such elation she swore it would kill the silence. But she kept the emotion masked by a calm countenance, reaching to cover her lips with a hand and faking a cough. She had to wonder just how far he meant by referring to _this stage_. She acknowledged his affections the minute he proposed courtship in the center of the bridge, but the words seemed quite different after he spoke them with sincerity.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation," she blurted, losing face in the process and knitting her eyebrows. "I am no common woman you can up and propose to. I am the daughter of your grandfather's enemy. A secret liaison between us will never solve a thing. We'd be children running around in the shadows hiding from our parents. What will happen when they finally realize? I can assure you neither of them is stupid enough to dismiss our constant meetings as a beneficial friendship. This could never be. I wish to have no part in this. The consequences—"

"Forget the consequences," he interrupted seriously, honest about not standing for yet another rejection and she was personally running out of excuses. "We have no need for them." He held his hand out for her to take and smiled bitterly. "Trust me, Layla. It is the only thing I will ask of you."

"Forgive me," she whispered, breaking into tears. "I cannot accept you."

The fact that she was rejecting him again was breaking her apart; she felt the stab in her chest as though a jagged knife had dug through it. But she didn't see a way for her to circumvent the temptation she had to yield to him. He only asked for her trust, and she felt positively shameful to have doubted him as much as she had. He seemed harmless, to her, and the consuming doubt disgusted her.

"Then why are you crying?"

She hastily rubbed out the tears from her cheeks. "You're making this so difficult!" she cried. "These are tears of frustration!"

"You're a bad liar."

She sniffled and wiped away more of the tears, her chest welling up with enough emotion to make it burst. "You're horrible!"

Layla felt his hand grab a hold of her own, squeezing it slightly to ease away her fixation with the situation, and stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of her. He leaned over enough to kiss her cheek, as slippery as it was from all the crying. She stared at him in clear disbelief, eyes wide with fresh tears spilling from them and mouth agape.

"There won't be consequences," he whispered, his grip over her hand loosening. "No interventions, or obstructions or dread. It'll only be us, in whatever life you wish to have."

The fact that he seemed so confident in his promises made her take a deep, shuddering breath. She couldn't resist anymore, but she refused to speak. And during that short lapse of time, Starrk let go of her hand, taking a step away from her with a reassuring smile. As he stepped further away, gesturing for her to move back, she heard the sound of voices. He followed the clamor and rounded the hall, leaving her in place.

"Starrk, where've you been?" called a young girl. She recognized her voice quickly, it was his younger sister and she didn't seem very pleased with his disappearance. "I've been looking for you for the past half hour."

"I took a walk earlier with Neliel."

"Eh, well." She seemed indifferent. "Grandfather's asking for you, he's got Ulquiorra and Nnoitra there."

Starrk sighed, reluctant. "Say you couldn't find me."

"It's official," the girl stated. "You have no choice."

"Return to your room, Lilynette."

"Fine, but you better go."

"I will."

When Starrk returned to the hall, he merely came to escort Layla out of his clan's section, and bid farewell before taking a sharp turn into a different corridor. He looked serious, frighteningly so, while asking her to accompany him out and the terse atmosphere had yet to vanish along with him. She felt curious enough to question him, but bit back the whirl of inquiries.

Layla returned to her bedroom, catching Halibel on her way out to say she didn't feel well. She felt worse having left her cousin head to the dining hall on her own, but knew she couldn't hide everything that occurred within that half hour. She was tempted, the fact of her acknowledgement made her body feel the slightest bit lighter and her heart a rampant mess.

Whatever she had chosen to hold onto from the minute of her acceptance to the noble Aizen clan, she slowly began letting it ease out of her grip. All she needed was that little push.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

**Thanks to**: Sixelle of Fireyness, rainy-lullaby, Sweet and Deadly, cheesebubble, Dia de Luz, and JazkaStar for the wonderful reviews/PMs in accordance to the previous chapter.

Good evening. The chapter is usually up early, but this time around I felt a bit reluctant about it and thus ended up delaying it. I considered rewriting it tonight in order to upload on Sunday, but cheesebubble urged me to post it after I sent him excerpts of it. :D Oh, and I ended up writing this from scratch again, not using the chapter I had planned...again.

Anyhow, because that chapter is simply laying about and I have time to myself towards the end of next week, I will be uploading twice this upcoming week. :D The first update should come around Tuesday or Wednesday and the second will be up on Halloween. So, um, yeah, I've got nothing to say!

Thank you for reading. :)


	20. The Heir

**Masquerade**

Chapter 20

-_**The Heir**_-

_No regrets, we said,_

_But I do regret one thing—_

_So small and insignificant…that_

_I noticed the world stop spinning_

The next ball took place during the weekend of the second week of their stay when more guests had arrived and joined the festivities, even a representative of the Queen. It almost seemed daunting, nobles and businessmen—whether good or bad—individuals from all over the world had stopped to unite there. To acknowledge the families half of the guests could not accept. It was no more than a gathering of hypocrites.

Claire, now referring to herself as Alexandria, and Will spent a lot of time downstairs in the hall taking care of the gaudy preparations with a flamboyant man dressed in gold making sure the arrangements went accordingly. Layla decided to see the hall before all prior preparations were complete, though everything seemed to be ready and perfect for that evening, and watched as the final ornate decorations were set up. From the crisscrossing drapery, to polishing the silver for the banquet and cleaning the chandeliers until they were crystal clear—everything took place under the flashy man's presence.

Lord Fletcher, overlooking as the last arrangements were finished, approached Layla with a glowing exuberance that commanded the room's attention without the help of his flashy, frill dress shirt and vintage gold outfit. He looked positively proud of his work, and turned to face her, plump cheeks a powdered rosy pink. She had a hard time determining a kind enough opinion to express to the man. She had no need to be callous after Lord Fletcher allowed her the privilege to enter when others were turn away from his masterpiece.

"What do you think, dear lady?" he asked confidently.

"Hmm." She thought about it thoroughly, looking over the decorations once more. "The chandeliers look fantastic."

"You have said nothing of my work!"

She looked again. "A bit garish," she answered as kindly as possible, "but, the guests would think no less of your tour de force."

She heard Will drop the silver he was polishing behind her, earning a reprimand from Claire, who was acting as Lord Fletcher's assistant. And when she turned to the husky man with his beady blue eyes and powdered white face, she felt horrible about speaking so bluntly. She could have lied about it.

"You think?" he inquired.

"You are a genius of your craft, surely the guests would appreciate the amount of time you put into decorating," she said with a nod.

"Perfection," he managed, slipping away with newfound glee.

Layla turned to Will, who gave her a sheepish look.

"I tried to be kind."

"You should be happy Lord Fletcher isn't the smartest man present," he said, wiping the silver spoons and setting them aside.

"Shame on you, William."

The young man smiled as she nudged him playfully, reaching for one of the cloths sitting on the large table to help with his chore. He jerked back slightly and turned to her. "On, my lady, you needn't help."

"I insist," she said, starting with the forks. "I might die of boredom, otherwise."

"Your father would dismiss me, were he here."

"Well he isn't, and even if he was I wouldn't let him do that. You've been such a kind man."

"I'm only doing my job."

Layla smiled lightly.

The two continued polishing the silver in silence.

"Are you planning to attend the festivities?" Will asked, breaking their silence.

"Only the banquet, I have no interest in attending the ball," she answered. "There will be too many guests."

"According to the list of invites, everyone requested has finally arrived," he admitted. "All the guest rooms have been filled."

"I have my suspicions about the reason for the gathering, but I can't be sure," she said quietly. "Have you heard anything?"

"Rumors mostly, though I try not to get involved."

That piqued her interest all over again. "What rumors?"

"Speculations on a Fourth Family, mostly," he answered. "I heard about the murders in London, but it could simply be a hate-crime, not necessarily another group with every intention of demolishing the influence the Three Families founded." He grabbed a hold of the spoon container and shifted it under his arm as he turned to face her with a curious look. "I personally find it hard to believe."

"I thought the same at first," she admitted, thinking the rumors were a tad dubious. In fact, she never thought things would escalate from the first two murders until she found a body that singled her out. The thought still haunted her, forcing a shudder from her body as the image filtered through her mind. "And thought it would be foolish for them to be marked as mere hate-crimes…but I am unconvinced by the Fourth Family conjecture. Even with so many enemies, there is too much of a fear factor for others to act upon. But then again, it does seem too early to start viewing suppositions as truth."

"You're right," he said with a curt nod. "I'll be taking these to the kitchens. Would you care to accompany me?"

Layla hurried her pace as she neared the end of forks left to polish. "Wait, I haven't finished these."

Will noticed and placed his container down, whipping out his towel and reaching for the ones she hadn't gotten around to. "I do recommend you attending the ball this evening; it seems the trio has an announcement."

"I'll consider it."

* * *

Layla had taken a trip to the kitchens with Will and heard all about the menu, until one of the cooks informed her that the food she would be served would be a tad bit different than the rest. She expected it, but had hoped differently. The foods were mouthwatering and the scents were extraordinary, so hearing all about her made her wish they hadn't changed her diet for the remainder of her stay.

She stayed a short while, speaking to the chef in charge of her meals and Will, but noting that a few aristocratic members of the Luisenbarn and Yamamoto were also roaming about. She excused herself early, around three hours before the banquet was held, giving her enough time to ask for a hairdresser to fix her messy locks of hair and to find an appropriate dress, though she already had one in mind. Will said he would follow suit after finishing his business in the kitchens, and if he felt he would be late, he would ask one of the maids to prepare the bath for her.

She continued down the hall, hearing the large doors of the kitchen open and close, followed by the sound of rushed steps. "Wait, Layla Aizen."

She stopped upon hearing her name and turned, surprised to see the beautiful Neliel Tu Odelschwanck of the Luisenbarn clan. The shock probably shown in her features since the older woman smiled reassuringly before taking her hands without warning.

"I've wanted to meet you forever," she said suddenly. "I heard so much about you."

Layla looked taken aback, blinking hard. "From who?"

"From Starrk," she answered lightly.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of that name. "Don't tell me you support his foolish ideas—"

Neliel's smile widened a bit more. "I've never seen him more serious than he is with you," she replied. "So I got everything out of him, and when he asked to break our engagement I couldn't say no. I was so excited—"

"Wait—what?" Layla spluttered. "Your engagement?"

"Oh, wait, I wasn't supposed to say that." She took a step back with a sheepish smile. "Forget I said that." She dropped her hands and slipped into the nearest hallway, still staring at her apologetically. "I should get going now."

"Excuse—"

Layla tried stopping her, but Neliel merely rushed down the rest of the corridor mumbling beneath her breath as she went. That definitely seemed like something a man should mention before courting another woman. She wasn't sure if she should be feeling that churning in her stomach or somehow turn it into anger.

Instead, she considered not thinking about it.

* * *

The banquet was held in the largest dining hall, in a long table full of a variety of exotic foods. The Three Families were present, along with the rest of the guests filling the entire dining table, so the whole atmosphere was tense. Aside from the clamor of the guests, and that of corresponding members of the clans, the silence could kill.

Layla remained silent throughout the entire meal, sitting between her father and Halibel in the center of the table, and noticed that neither she nor her father had eaten much of the food.

Her eyes wandered down both ends of the table, Genryūsai Yamamoto sat on one end and on the other was the Queen's representative. Barragan Luisenbarn sat surrounded by all his grandchildren with the exception of Starrk, who arrived late and was forced to sit across from the Duke of Cambridge and his duchess. He never looked in her direction, as if he knew that her father was watching him through the corner of his eyes.

After the banquet concluded, Layla caught up to her father as everyone was escorted into the hall for the ball.

"Do you need anything, Layla?"

"I don't wish to attend the gala," she said after catching her breath.

He took her arm and placed it over his courteously. "That's impossible," he answered, leading her towards the hall. "You need to attend."

"May I retire early?"

"You may not."

Layla nodded without censure. She let her father lead her into the garishly decorated hall where the orchestra had already begun to play their melodies. Upon entering, he dropped his tight hold on her and turned to her. "Do try to enjoy the gathering, Layla."

With that, he slipped away, leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere and she regretted having lost sight of Halibel the minute she let her father grab a hold of her. She sighed and waited by the door as the rest of the guests piled in. She searched the enormous space for Halibel, but the longer she looked the more impossible it got. Instead, she grabbed a hold of the wine being carried on silver platters for the guests to take whenever the servants came around.

After taking a glass of merlot, she stepped away from the large oak doors and into a crowd of people. There were plenty other individuals she could socialize with to pass time, though she wasn't entirely willing to stay for the rest of the evening. She caught sight of Neliel, remembered the woman's blunder that afternoon they spoke, and felt very curious about questioning Starrk.

She wondered if it would be appropriate of her to search for him, or if it would arouse unnecessary attention. Thinking about him made her heart palpitate and cheeks color.

She hadn't given him an answer, and she did consider everything. She felt different since their last meeting.

Sometimes she couldn't help but feel the temptation grow stronger, and the answer seem much clearer.

She gulped down the rest of her wine, and continued through the crowd. This time sure she was searching for Starrk.

They had a conversation pending.

* * *

Layla ambled through the large hall with an empty wineglass in her hand searching for the nearest table to set it down and pick up another. She lost count of how many she had by then, and barely felt the repercussions of the alcohol during her search for whoever it was that she spent the entire evening looking for. She felt tipsy, at best, with a need of removing the uncomfortable matching pair of shoes she vehemently decided on even after Halibel warned her about blisters. She mouthed off some nonsense of every woman is deserving of her vanity on her way out that door when Claire assaulted her. She regretted more things than any sane person would with the heightened emotional level given to her by the severity of her high tolerance for alcohol. She never asked to have that sort of effect—nor did she give it enough thought that no one was given an option on whether or not they would be able to hold down their liquor. Except, at the moment, her imagination and rational had switched on her that it was hard for her not to believe there would be old folklore demons chasing her down if she did something out of place. _I'm going insane, I can feel it._

Various non-family members, but many of the leeches and subsequent members of the lower class of the hierarchy chain pertaining to their familiar congregation, asked her to dance, to sit and converse, said it was in _her_ best interest to know them better. Regrettably, she knew better than to socialize with a group of strangers.

After making her final round around the area, pushing through throngs of people and losing count after the last two glasses she ever laid hands on, she sauntered towards the exit. Her eyes searched past the mixture of black and various seasonal colors dancing in dizzying circles—ridiculous things certain women did to complement their partners, matching colors.

_Where is that damned redhead when you need her?_

Just as the thought crossed her mind, the woman in question caught her eye. She was perched upon a longhaired man's lap with her arms wrapped around his neck and her face close to his ear whispering flirtatiously.

She took another glass from the table and downed it on the spot, leaving it behind as she headed up to get a hold of the redhead for reasons unknown to her. She stopped before the two, Claire looking at her quite curiously with a jovial grin. "What can I do you, my fair lady?"

"I need to speak with you."

"Why don't you join us Miss Layla?" asked the older man with a flirtatious air.

She eyed him humorlessly. "I don't mix with your kind either, Shunsui Kyoraku."

"Sure told you," said the redhead, jumping off his lap and taking a hold of Layla's hand.

Shunsui merely chuckled, raising his glass to her.

Layla tugged the redhead to a safer distance from a throng of people surrounding the man. "You said they asked you to watch over the guests, right?"

It was coming back to her, rather slowly, but returning—though not entirely.

"Quite a number of 'em actually," she answered, placing her hands on her hips and swinging them with assurance.

"Do you know where the Luisenbarn are situated?"

Claire arched an eyebrow, having already had this conversation with the lady. "On the same floor as you, but everyone should be here."

"No, one's missing," she said, remembering. "The oldest grandson of the old man—he isn't here. I want to know where his room is."

"Paying nightly visits to a man is not ladylike behavior."

Layla glared. "Don't speak nonsense and tell me where his room is."

Claire giggled, pursing her lips. "I don't know the room, darling, but I can guarantee that if you check every room, you'll find him."

"Is there anyone up there?"

"Probably the leftovers, but they won't bother you. I can go with you if you need me."

"No, but thank you for offering your services."

Layla patted the woman's shoulder awkwardly, giving her the best look of appreciation she could muster in her hazy state of mind, before slipping through a horde of young teenagers who whispered as she passed.

* * *

It took a while for her to find her way to the Luisenbarn half of the manor and search through every room until she stumbled into the one that belonged to Starrk. She would have closed the door if she hadn't noticed his arm from underneath the bed. All the running around had made her stomach lurch ungraciously and let her mind play tricks on her. So when she came across the unappreciated scene, Layla gasped. It sounded exaggerated, but she meant it.

Then, his fingers twitched, and she wondered how odd it was for her to be able to recognize him by simply looking at his hand. Call her crazy, she most definitely believed it.

Layla tiptoed towards the large bed in the center and dropped down to peer inside to find him sleeping.

"Honestly, who sleeps under a bed?" she whispered incredulously.

"I for one do."

She jolted nearly falling on her bum, frightened. "I'm imagining this?"

"How's the dance party?"

She eased into a comfortable seat and planted both hands on her lap. "Don't you plan to attend?"

"Possibly." He shifted underneath his bed and pulled his arm back. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for you."

"Do you need something?"

Her head spun with her inebriation and the colors blended in a full circle. She put her hand in her head, pushing back her hair and groaning. "I might have had too much wine."

"A lady shouldn't have too much wine." Starrk got onto his stomach and drug himself out from under the bed. He sat up in front of her, staring at her intensely. She couldn't read him particularly well, but wondered if he was trying to somehow determine just how badly the alcohol affected her with an intense stare. He was good at that.

She felt a chill in her bones, but her body was warm. His hand, which wound its way to the nook of her neck, was hotter.

"W-why are you touching me?"

He didn't answer, only removed his hand, and stood up. He plopped down at the foot of his bed after helping her to her shaky feet.

"Can I stay with you for a while?" she asked, almost tentatively.

"Not in your condition."

She frowned, jerking her hand from his grasp.

"I have control of all five of my senses, you ignoramus. I'm tired, I looked for your company to…apologize again, per se, but if you think I should go, then I—I should leave." She turned on her heel and headed to the door when she heard him sigh deeply. She took her time to allow him the time to think before letting her walk out of his chambers.

Layla couldn't help but feel guilty, apologetic, and idiotic all at once, as if the emotions were already programmed into her to work subsequently until she gave an answer. The longer she dwelled in it could lead to more baggage and if she couldn't get off her chest what she had been considering since the last time she saw him—a dwindling thought that passed through her better judgment. It made her feel a good portion of sentiments she would normally suppress show and forced her to feel a need to spill it. The truth or at least her perception of it.

"Stay."

She stopped with her door on the handle, unaware that she had been standing there a while waiting rather than making her need discreet. She looked over her shoulder at his form sprawled over the bed and moved back to his side seemingly reluctant.

She ran her fingers over the messy blue coverlet. "May I sit?"

"Please." He moved onto his side, his eyes closed lazily.

Layla took a seat beside him, waiting in silence for him to say something, or for her to gather the itty bits of courage remaining in her pitiful entity. While concentrating on growing a new backbone for her slightly inebriated self, her eyes wandered about the décor of his elegant chambers. The comforting ambience of the room was fifty times more welcoming than that of her lousy bedroom, which would be hers for the rest of the stay—a speck of news that had her downing wine faster than she acquired it when she found it out. And she almost never drank in fear of having to follow the same "one glass a day" agenda her father tended to abuse. Substance abuse did run in her family, and it wasn't pretty.

She remembered how her decrepit, rude, insufferable, dead grandfather had a tendency to abuse cigars with a hint of something extra and drank with each meal, at every venue, during twenty-two hours of the day. It might have had plenty to do with the discourtesy he opted to display in front of others to brink of unnecessary violence and ungraceful exits when it pertained to crowded formal gatherings. He was the crème de la crème of outings, a spectacle most would be disappointed to miss, thus causing an anomaly of attractions to their somewhat unknown family. If the old man hadn't been such an insufferable bastard, the Aizen family wouldn't have garnered much attention—or so the excuse her father tended to say in order to not find humiliation in his own father's actions. She could be wrong, but she'd rather view it as so. She hated her grandfather just as much as the insulted individuals because constantly referring to her in the most obscene ways wasn't necessarily bonding, _so he claimed_. Neither had his offhanded reference to her _gypo-whore_ of a mother that seduced his _perfect son _and conceived her. _I'm glad the bastard's dead._

But, the room's splendor was as exquisite as the pinot noir in her bloodstream. The atmosphere, which she would normally be indifferent towards, could have never subdued her unsettled palpitations if it had been without the wine. It suddenly became the best thing in creation and she felt a need to point out various reasons as to why, but Starrk wouldn't be interested in how complimentary the furnishings were with his vile personality.

Starrk merely laid in silence, wearing nothing but a white shirt with an unbuttoned vest and a pair of pants that seemed to define his assets, which she meant as innocently as possible. She stared at his horripilated skin and wondered if he felt chilly or her mere presence unsettled him. She could help either way, leave if she had to or draw the covers over his still, breathing form.

She stared at his face and fought back the need of touching him so audaciously, as he did to her many times before. She settled with merely looking, to remembering the kiss that warmed her body in ways that only a heavy quilt could manage. But he had done it so effortlessly that she wished for the same courage he had at the moment of said kiss, to return it.

How could that corpse of a man tempt her unwillingness to yield? She wondered, whilst singlehandedly propping her slim form over his, placing both palms at his sides and keeping her noisy dress quiet for at least a minute—until the accommodations of said position felt more natural than her hair seemed more red than brown in the sunrise's glow.

What if he called her a succubus for curiously leaning closer to his slumbering profile? Would he mistake her curiosity as immorality? Had she ever done anything to merit such a title? No, she thought about it and no, she had not. She was pure of heart, body, and soul. She needn't apologize for curiosity either; it wasn't a sin, only a bad habit.

Layla breathed easily, even though her heart nearly ripped out of her chest and the palms of her hand were sweating more than she would have liked. She was afraid of leaving a stain in the covers. It would be unladylike to show the unhygienic side of her, not that she was unhygienic to start—she followed daily ablutions and cleaned germs whenever a basin was near. The fabric of her dress rustled as she pivoted her upper body towards him, kicked off her matching heels, and slipped her legs underneath the disaster that was the bustle. She leaned further down, leading with her chin like a clammy amateur, when he moved.

Her heart jumped into her throat, beating as aggressively as it had against her ribcage. Her skin went cold and she held her breath without moving an inch, not even blinking away the loose eyelash from her eye. She hated the world until he settled down with an exhausted sigh.

It was after his suspire that she began feeling guilty.

She was coddling him in his sleep when he probably needed it. Why couldn't she be like every normal woman in the world and be patient. She could always kiss his face during other unoccupied intervals of the day. But her stomach clenched and heart fell back into place. She couldn't feel the beating in her head or the courage to kiss him as she wanted, but it didn't deny her the imprint that it existed. That even if she rejected him, she felt much closer to him than she ever had to another man. However, she had no right to say such ignorant things because she did decline his offer to court her, and even though her talk of sentiments for a friendship were shoved down her throat by the guilt, she couldn't take back the awfulness of them.

Starrk looked as handsome as ever, more than she could imagine probably and she resisted the urge fighting to break her. The tears aligned the rims of her eyes to adhere her denial, but if they fell from place she would lose to the truth. She sniffled stupidly and held her gloved hand underneath her nose. Her erratic heartbeat slipped back to routine and she could breathe easy without feeling as though she would drown without water.

Regardless, she slipped her fingers against his cheek and gently turned his face to her. She moved closer until her lips met his, where she held them as a single tear fell from her closed eyes. She lost herself, so humble and sincere, that whatever wrong done confided in his room meant nothing if she temporarily discarded her affiliation with the Aizen family and was nothing but a meek Romani in search of a quiet setting. She swore she would never feel such affections for a man, even more if he was a member of the rival families, because she didn't want to relive the sadden fate of her mother and Vandlo. The longer she resisted, the harder it became to be considered human. How could she not succumb to the emotion in her heart?

At the moment, she understood the reason why she wanted to stay away. If she lingered, she may disappear into a mixture of unknown emotions. Her body trembled, but she wasn't anxious, her face heated and she wasn't mortified. Her stomach felt full of air with a constant fluttering that elated her, but she had barely taken a bite to eat that evening.

Layla's maelstrom of right ended as she drew her lips from his and opened her eyes to the sight of his curious orbs staring back at her wordless confession. She expected the worst outcome after being caught in the act. She moved her face further from his and bit her lip, searching for words to blurt out.

"Don't torture me, Layla," he whispered, lying perfectly still.

She lowered her gaze to his collarbone like a guilty child. "I am not the type of person to play with one's affections, do not judge me so simply."

Starrk's tilted her face up with the tip of his finger and had her face him with the same warmth she offered even whilst being insufferable.

"You're not," he admitted, knowing her well enough to determine the truth in her words. He lifted his upper body slightly with his weight on his elbows and face in her proximity. He could smell the sweetened scent of wine on her lips and felt the essence of them lingering in his mouth. "You don't need to apologize, I told you already."

She moved from her awkward position and turned away from him as she straightened out, suddenly not sorry about trying to take advantage of him as he slept.

"It wasn't an apology."

Starrk sat up, confused. "You find me repulsive, why would you do it?"

She scoffed. "Stop being such a martyr, I _never_ said I found you repulsive."

"…Then?"

She looked at him. "With only half of my rationality functioning, I can guarantee that I might want to…try that it again."

Starrk reached for her face and drew her closer when she covered his mouth with her hand, suddenly anxious.

"Wait…wait—don't rush," she said. "I'm not particularly good at this, so please don't…" He removed her hand from his lips and held it against the bed as he leaned closer to her. She could feel his lips graze hers and his breath warm her. "…Don't be so hasty."

He kissed her gently, holding her face in his hands. Slowly he led her and she tentatively followed. Their lips melded and parted to intensify their patient contact. He treated her like brittle glass, afraid to press too hard and not break her newfound confidence. But she was anxious, nonetheless. Afraid of doing something wrong when everything suddenly seemed so right; she had trouble believing in reality. The distinct taste of pinot noir was fresh in her mouth, inebriation seemed to attract hallucinations and she wasn't sure she even found her way into his bedroom. She drank too much, now she dreamt of what should have happened possibly days prior to this frightening reunion.

But his kisses felt very real, and his caresses, though gently and barely touching her face, made her so self-conscious her body was trembling. He held her close, wrapped her arms around his neck, and placed his hands at her waist leaning into her. She had her back pressed against the bedpost and his fingers laced into her hair when he drew back to look at her face. She felt tired; having not slept enough the day before to regain all the lost energy.

Starrk nestled into the warmth of her body, his chin on her shoulder while his fingers tangled through her messy locks of auburn hair. She ran her hands over his back, seemingly sleepy as she did. Her eyes were drowsy, but she refused to give into her need.

"What would you consider your natural hair color?"

"Brown," she answered with a yawn. "Naturally, it looks brown."

"It's red in the light," he muttered, his breath tickling her skin.

She laughed, ever so slightly. "It's brown, definitely brown."

He kissed the nook between her shoulder and neck.

"Sometimes it's red," she muttered disdainfully.

He chuckled, doing it again. That particular area was ticklish and she tried to bite back the giggles, but there was a large smile plastered on her face.

"You truly have no sense of propriety," she complained, shifting underneath the slight weight of his body.

He propped himself up, getting out of her hold with a frown. "How have I offended you this time?"

"I have never talked to a man about my natural hair color, nor have I had an entire, sane conversation about shortcake—"

He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "You're insane."

"Who talks about cake? Honestly, Starrk."

"What do men usually talk about?" He tilted his head. "You seem to be accustomed to this code I have no knowledge of."

Layla remained quiet, trying to think. She wasn't sure the men she met talked about anything but themselves. "Themselves, I suppose."

"I don't speak about myself enough?"

"You don't speak about yourself at all."

He leaned back with a light hum. The creak of the mattress made her feel anxious all over again.

"I'm Starrk, Viscount L'Isle, twenty-five, Spanish origin—mostly, at least," he said, smirking at the sight of her incredulous expression. "I don't talk well about myself." He rubbed the back of his head, withdrawing from the idea of speaking more about his life.

"I didn't ask for that," she said, still smiling, "but I appreciate it."

There was a long silence.

"We can talk about cake," he said suddenly.

"You don't like sweets."

"Melon cake." He ignored her. "What do you like about it?"

"Why are we talking about cake?" She sounded exasperated, dropping her arms at her side and turning away.

"We're not arguing about this, Layla," he said seriously.

She laughed obnoxiously. "No. We are. I am not talking about cake with you again."

"Layla," he repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"I was trained in conversation, Starrk, my pride goes to the ability a stern woman imposed on me as a child," she stated, dead serious. This was difficult for him to fathom considering he had an expanding smile on his handsome face. "I can easily respond to anything you can speak of without complain or considerable problem."

"You hardly speak at all."

"That has nothing to do with being a trained conversationalist."

He simply laughed.

Layla looked offended. "You laugh all you wish. One day, you'll see." She stumbled onto her feet and wobbled towards the door. "I should return to the dance party, else my father might get livid once he notices I'm not present."

Starrk watched her carefully, standing, still smiling. "I can escort you." He looked at the grandfather clock by the window and then to her. "It should be about time I show."

She stopped at the door, begrudgingly, looked at her feet and then to him with reluctance. "Yes, please."

He reached her side and as she reached for the handle he placed his own over hers. He lifted her chin with his other and pecked her lips. The feeling that washed through her was almost melancholy, but when he took her hand it drained from her body.

* * *

Layla separated from Starrk when they first entered the long corridor to avoid suspicion and entered the hall on her own to hear the quiet piano mixing with the melody of the violins and cellos. She searched the crowd and found Halibel ignoring a man inviting her to dance. She pushed through many, looking back continuously when she felt someone's eyes on her back and she would catch Starrk's gaze. Even if she would lose herself in that horde of important bystanders, he would pick her apart from the rest in an instant—it didn't matter if all the women were wearing the same colors or if their hair was a reddish brown like her own, a darker glow within the dim lighting of the room—he could find her. And she would know.

"Halibel."

The quiet blond turned to her with a worried look. "Where have you been?"

She waved her hand. "Nowhere in particular. I wanted to have a look around the estate again."

"I've noticed we're the only individuals of the Aizen family, everyone either belongs to Yamamoto or Luisenbarn, some are only manipulated figureheads," she began. "I don't trust a handful of the guests, or the guards for that matter."

"Did something happen?"

"Not yet, and hopefully it's my imagination."

Layla looked around the room, noticing the eccentricity Halibel referred to. A few guards, those that weren't a part of the private people hired by the families, whispered among themselves or to peculiar individuals.

The air was musky and heavy and reeked of bad intentions.

She and Halibel continued their occasional exchange until it was half past ten. She noticed the crowd thin out, only the significant guests remained, among them she saw Duchess Rovina mingling with Retsu and Nanao from the Yamamoto family. The redhead spotted her from afar and waved with a playful smile on her reddened lips, which she returned.

Halibel nudged her when Aizen approached them with a serious expression. "Come with me Layla."

He didn't wait for her response, merely turned on his heel and walked for her to follow. She looked around the room to catch others watching them with curious eyes, expectant smiles, and the same bad intentions that engulfed the room as they slipped into a dim-lighted room.

When the door was closed behind them she faced forward, her heart skipping a beat after looking around the large room and the crème de la crème of the gathering all in one place. The atmosphere was unlike the other hostile situations they stumbled into, much like the scandal created in the Laxton manor during his daughter's engagement where a simple bump caused ridiculous uproars or the banquet. There was no enmity present, only the chilling revelation that was on the verge of divulging.

She saw the bearded old man regard her father with a sharp glare and turned to Luisenbarn, who was facing the fireplace warming the room with a glass of white wine in one hand and the other curled against the mantel.

"About time you arrived, Aizen," Barragan Luisenbarn said brusquely.

"My apologies," he said saccharinely, sifting through the room with a quick gesture for her to follow.

She looked at both men as she followed behind her father. "Good evening."

"Evening, she says," remarked Barragan.

"Leave the girl be," Yamamoto stated with a thick accent, his cane making contact with the wooden floors noisily and nodding to her.

Her father took a seat in an empty armchair and she stood at his side, hesitant on stepping anywhere near the other two family heads.

"Where are the others?" Aizen inquired, seeing as they were the only ones in sight.

Barragan turned quickly, the wine of his glass sloshing and pointed to the doorway near him. "The brats excused themselves, and my petulant g—"

The door from the hall opened and Starrk stepped inside, pulling on his gloves.

Layla held in her shock, not allowing it to register on her face. Starrk's eyes whisked through the room and looked her way longer than anticipated. She turned her head and placed her hand over the armchair with an anxious sigh.

"I'm late," he said, kicking the door shut behind him and crossed the room. He took a seat in the couch across from Yamamoto and leaned back whilst buttoning up his jacket and pushing back his hair.

Barragan glared at him and whispered something to his grandson in Spanish, much of which sounded like a whirl of insults, to which he calmly responded, "_Vos tiene razón._" It only seemed to frustrate him and draw out unnecessary insults until the _brats_ Barragan referred to, entered the room together noisily enough to draw the attention to them.

Layla recognized the shorter boy. He had been at the Laxton engagement party, the wallflower that was Yamamoto's brother's grandson, though his name she didn't know. He didn't look any older than fourteen, whereas his smiling companion didn't look over twelve. Both were spoken to in Japanese and gestured by Yamamoto to the empty space beside him.

Everyone settled into a heavy silence, though the young boys spoke to one another until the dark-haired one asked the other to be quiet. The latter seemed to be of a curious nature, while the longhaired boy looked to be aggravated quite easily.

Yamamoto cleared his throat. Aizen leaned onto the armrest, and Barragan pulled Starrk out of his comfort to sit in the couch alone.

"Shall we begin?" asked Aizen.

Barragan arched an eyebrow in contempt. "Running things already—"

Her father chuckled, interrupting him. "I have matters to attend in the morning, and would prefer the meeting end as quickly as possible."

Barragan bristled. "How dare you interrupt me?"

"That was not my intention." He smiled lightly as he spoke, obviously provoking him.

"Father…"

"Speak when spoken to, Layla."

She took a breath and dropped her hand to her side. "Forgive me."

"There is no need for altercations," Yamamoto started crisply. "The agreement has already been made, and if an infantile argument were to disturb the peace then neither one of you are worthy of title."

"That's an interesting choice of words, Yamamoto."

Yamamoto shot a glare his way and the tension gathered at the center of the room, slowly spreading with every new comment. Until somehow, her father managed to end it as easily as he had started the altercation, taking charge of leading the conversation.

He leaned back in his chair and eyed everyone evenly. "Let's begin our long awaited assembly with its foundation, the future family heirs," he began, gesturing for his elders to begin.

Layla listened intently, knowing the outcome was looking grim from her standpoint and she couldn't help but coddle the turmoil to remain. Her heart was beating erratically and her fingers were so clammy she felt a need to remove the gloves from her hands.

But she listened.

Yamamoto looked to the boys. "They are Kuchiki Byakuya and Ichimaru Gin, both prominent members of my clan. Once they're of age, one of them will inherit all rights to my businesses and fortunes." He mouthed something to them in their native tongue, forcing both of them to bow with affirmation.

Barragan finished his wine and handed the glass to his grandson with a grunt. "My grandson, Coyote Starrk Luisenbarn, will attain his rights upon my death."

"My youngest, Layla," her father said, gesturing to her. "Five years from today, she will become the second generation leader of my family."

Layla's heart stopped. "W-what?"

"Five years…is quite early to announce your retirement," Yamamoto questioned.

"Within the allotted time, she will be more than worthy of such merit, that I trust."

Barragan laughed mockingly.

She unconsciously made eye contact with Starrk until he broke it, knowing the others were watching. She understood the feeling—the reason why it seemed so bittersweet.

_Why must it be me…?_

_

* * *

_**Thanks to**: cheesebubble, rainy-lullaby, Sweet And Deadly, Dia de Luz, Starfire8001, OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO for reviewing the previous chapter.

**x L i l i m**:

Happy Halloween!

And dare I say, finally.

Thank you for reading. :3


	21. Light Lies to Save You

**Masquerade**

Chapter 21

-_**Light Lies to Save You**_-

_I've committed more mistakes than I can count with my fingers._

_Every year the amount drowns out the noise_

_But every time, everyday, I realize…_

_I haven't learned a thing._

Little was discussed afterward. It seemed as though there was nothing left to say once the heirs were presented. Everyone met, a short murmur of names were exchanged as the cacophony in her chest drowned out the sound of everyone's voices. She returned to where she was previously, in the crux of various irresolvable situations that led to her current predicament. She felt she should have seen it coming. The fact that neither Szayel nor Sun-Sun weren't attending the gathering, and that only she and her estranged cousin were on the guest list—there were multiple rumors pointing in her direction all this time. She had no conscious of mind to notice, understood nothing, couldn't fathom the certainty her father dared to place on her, and felt the brunt of her troubles multiply by the dozens. She felt quite taken by the things pressuring her all around—everything but the suspicious reason for their stay in the desolate estate.

Layla stormed to her bedroom, refusing to attend the rest of the ball as her father requested. She slammed her door; the sound booming through the hollow walkways shortly after the echo of her heels disappeared. She kicked off the stylish shoes, leaving them wherever they landed and continued onto haphazardly removing the stuffy clothes encasing her body. She continued her angry rush until she was left in nothing but the white undergarment beneath her corset.

She breathed at that point, feeling the clip of her hair falling from the tangles of her auburn locks. Slipping through the ripples of reddish-brown, hitting the curve of her shoulder, and clattering onto the ground. Her hair fell past her shoulders and over her face, eyes glued to the expensive rug beneath her bare feet. She reached for her back, untying the strings to her corset, progressively loosening it until it flopped off her frame and onto the bundle of clothes on the ground.

She stomped across the room, dropping down on her plush bedding. She felt much too exhausted to let the realization turn to frustration. Everything, which had suddenly felt so right, looked so wrong.

She curled over the comforter, taking a handful of the plush material and draping it over her form.

* * *

Layla awoke to a hard knock against her bedroom door and an obvious reluctance to get out of bed to answer. She rolled around the length of her bed until her back hit the floor hard. She groaned, but even then, she refused to get up and greet whoever it was behind the door. She wanted to continue sleeping until she woke up in a life that hadn't taken a complicated turn, where she could easily slip from her bed and get dressed for the day to come rather than dread it.

The knocking stopped. Rubbing her face and turning over, she turned towards the large windows adorning her chambers. Although she expected the incandescent lighting of a sunrise to spill, she realized it was still dark out. The drapes were drawn shut; the woody scent from the burning fireplace filled the room. Fresh wood seemed to have been piled onto the hearth, bright red-yellow flames licking the bark, encasing the once wintry room in warmth.

With a quiet moan, she pulled her heavy form from the ground, and picked the fur coat slumped her chair. She slipped it on, crossing one side over the other and holding it shut with both arms as she padded towards the double doors leading out of her room. She wondered who it could be so late at night. Will had permission to walk inside, though he was very adamant on knocking, and the last time she had seen or heard of him was when he appeared to keep the heating to a moderate temperature. By the looks of the fresh logs burning in the fireplace, he had already made a round. She also didn't expect her father to come explain his unsuspecting decision. Rovina wasn't the type to intrude at night, whether she desperately needed something or not. Halibel, too, would simply give a good knock on the joining door if she wished to speak.

She could already imagine who stood behind the door by the time she opened it.

She wasn't surprised to see Starrk slumped on the doorframe with one hand covering his expression. Her reaction to the situation was unlike she expected it to be. She believed she would snap once the two had come face to face, that she would lose her composure, and demand for the inkling of guilt he should have felt the moment he lied and said he was _not_ the heir of the Luisenbarn. At the same time, he might be in a similar situation, thinking she never told him the truth about her being her family's heir—though she had no understanding of the notion.

"You're troubling me, Starrk." She leaned into the frame, dropping her hold on the door's handle and reaching to press a firm palm against his shoulder.

"I'm drunk." He lifted his face, looking as docile as he did the night of the auction where he admitted to having a low tolerance of alcohol. "Rovina kept giving me glass after glass of pinot noir."

_That certainly sounds like the duchess, no doubt_. "That is more of a reason for you to return to your chambers and rest."

"I can't."

She gave him a small push, reaching for the wooden doors. "Return to your room, we shouldn't be seen together."

Starrk stepped inside, holding the doors before she shut them and loomed over her smaller frame. "I can't return to my bedroom in this condition."

"Stop with these excuses, I will not let you in."

"You will," he said lightly.

Layla stared at him defiantly, unable to shake the rush of emotion conquering her need to stand firm.

She screwed her eyes shut, huffing as she stepped away from the doorway. "Don't make a ruckus."

He shut the doors behind him as quietly as possible before roaming about her room to find somewhere comfortable to sit and wait for the effects of the alcohol to lesson. She had taken a seat at the foot of her bed, letting a yawn escape her while attempting to keep an eye on the man. He had taken a seat in one of the chairs restlessly, searching for the comfort the wine had stripped him of. She wanted to help somehow, inwardly wishing Rovina hadn't pestered the man with so many drinks until he was in such a state. It was obvious his tolerance was as low as he claimed. He could hardly sit still in his perch, unable to find peace in sleep or relaxation.

"Starrk," she called quietly, capturing his attention. His eyes snapped to hers and she patted the space on her bed. "Come lay beside me."

He bolted out of his seat, shaking his head. "Improper."

"Please."

"No."

"It has never stopped you before. This is the only time I'll offer such an invitation to you. Take advantage of it."

"I couldn't take advantage of you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I'm a man, and you a woman."

"Don't think I've noticed," she said sardonically.

Starrk took quick steps toward her until his hands clasped her small shoulders. "Be careful." She used the time to grab him by the arm and pull his sluggish form onto the bed. When he showed some restraint, she put her leg over his, forcing him to stumble onto the plush coverlet. He lifted his gaze from the wrinkled fabric. "You are no lady."

She smiled, helping him get on his back. "Now is no time to insult me, I can just as easily toss you out of my bedroom."

He nodded in agreement, his eyes red and glazed. She looked to him graciously, reaching her hand to touch his face and push his messy hair away from his gaze.

"Sit up now."

She patted his shoulder while standing, moving in front of him as he did as instructed. She took a deep breath, hiding the evident blush on her cheeks, and using the dim lighting of the fireplace, she reached for the ascot tie tucked into his waistcoat. Instead of moving away, he stayed still, eyes watching her carefully as she encountered a bit of trouble undoing the tie. A series of unnecessary thoughts filled her mind through her troubles, things such as never before having untied an ascot before, how easily her fingers slipped into his jacket, and while turning to unbutton his waistcoat before his hands caught hers.

She lifted her innocent gaze, feeling the brush of her hair by the side of her face. His grip tightened slightly, the blood rushing to her face as the embarrassment set in. He stared back intently. "I can manage, I think."

She understood, tugging her hands free of his hold and moving from him. "Make yourself comfortable."

Layla took the time to search for a nightgown, thinking it improper to sleep in her usual undergarments—as if having a man sleep besides her wasn't bad enough. She knew she couldn't leave him wandering about in his condition, especially when he stared at her with such…_conviction_. She had no choice but to allow him to stay after his previous words echoed through her head. _I can't return to my bedroom in this condition—exactly why would that pose a problem?_

She ventured into the adjacent room to dress. Taking off her coat and undergarment in the dark room, she could hear the bit of noise from her bedroom—the creaks of the bed, the sound of his suspire—and she rushed to pull on the white nightgown before returning. He left his clothes on the floor before her bed, making himself comfortable underneath the noisy coverlet.

She moved to his clothes, picking them up and hiding them in her coat, which she felt bundled up on the nearest chair. She approached her bed, untying the lace keeping the drapes attached to the bedpost to ensure the safety of his stay. Will would return at daybreak to clean the ashes as he knowingly did at her request, were he to see a man sleeping at her side…there would surely be an misunderstanding. She let the thick drapes fall all around the bed before slipping through and climbing on through the darkness.

She patted her way around his form and flopped onto the other side with a deep breath. She stared up at the darkness, stretching out her limps to feel one arm bumping into his solid form. She turned to him, rolling onto her side and drawing both arms to her chest. "Any sleeping habits I should be worried about?"

"Snoring," he answered quietly.

"How do you know?"

"Lilynette complains often. You?"

"I'm quite territorial."

"So am I."

A smile crept over her lips. "Don't be surprised if you end up on the floor."

He chuckled. His voice was close. She felt around the noisy fabric of her coverlet until she found his hand sitting near his chest. She linked her fingers with his, blending the warmth of her hand to his cold one. She stared into the darkness where she assumed his face would be.

"Who let you in while I was ill?"

"That was a dream."

"I am no fool."

"Clair."

Layla pursed her lips. "That awful woman."

"She's quite entertaining—"

She jerked her hand away with a newfound feeling that consumed her at the idle mention of Claire, the self-proclaimed prostitute of the manor, as entertaining. She fumbled for the covers, moving underneath them and curling up to mask her irritation. But he surely would have noticed, so it seemed.

"Layla," he murmured.

"If she's so _entertaining_, you might have been better off asking her to let you stay in her chambers."

"Layla…" She felt him inch closer. "Are you jealous?"

She jerked at the sound of the word. "Why would I be jealous? You are not mine."

Suddenly, his arm wrapped around the small of her waist and she was once more lying on her back, hair splayed against the pillow as she searched the darkness for him. His body hovered above her, his lips so close she smelled the sweetness of the wine on his breath, accompanied with a mixture of cologne and wintry evening air from his clothes and skin. His long hair tickled her cheeks.

"Is that what you want?"

"What?" she asked carefully.

"Do you want me to be yours?"

She stared at the silhouetted face, set on believing this was only a dream. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"You said it."

She blinked hard. "What should I say?"

"The truth."

"You have not spoken the truth to me either," she said firmly, recounting every instant where he did not tell the truth and how the unsettling churn of her stomach filled her with trepidation. "Why is my truth relevant?"

"I can give you reasons to every truth I have denied you, only if you speak it to me now."

She hesitated. Her duty as an heir flooding through her mind, the future in which she knew seeing Starrk would be a selfish dream, and every other pestering thought that crushed her chest. She understood the importance of her role, but as her eyes wandered the darkness of her bed…her body refused to acknowledge the value of her family because deep down inside a feeling had emerged. She had accepted her duties prior to that moment, been as good as one could be, but she never abandoned her love of freedom even though it had forsaken her. But she found it once more and it was tempting.

Starrk was her freedom.

She could not resist this time.

She reached for him in the darkness, arms snaking around his shoulders to reel him closer to the sound of her erratic heartbeat. She faltered at first, but the drumming of his heart pressed against her ribcage assured her of their equal standing. Both heirs of the strongest families in existence, both underneath the same watchful eyes, with similar restrictions and sentiments akin to one another, consequences were easy to derive from either clan, and there was a strong security stopped her from pulling away. A voice in the back of her head pleaded for her to do the right thing—ask him to leave and be done with it, but something distinct from the pit of her stomach drew him closer. There was hesitation and assurance, and a solid determination she was unable to shake that frightened her.

Layla shifted underneath his weight, her fingers entwining with one another, her eyes looking through the darkness at what she assumed were his. She felt the tip of his nose near hers and the brush of his breathing as it slid past her parted lips.

"Be mine, Starrk," she whispered lightly. "Be mine in darkness and secrecy…"

He needn't speak the answer, for he readily showed her what she longed for most. He captured her lips hastily, taking her in his arms resolutely. His kiss was strong and reassuring, loving and peaceful—it was everything she imagined it would be and more. She felt his body strong against hers, his fingers tangling in her hair and inching further onto the back of her neck. There was a lustrous forbearance in the situation that eased the turmoil ignited inside her trembling form. The kiss gave her finality in her doubts, allowed the palpitations to fall into what would become normal for them.

However, the thought of what she had said, and the suggestiveness behind such daring words, caused her face to heat up and her body to detach from the perfect mold of his. She had never spoken such bold sentiments and she wished her mortification would pass as her lips kissed his with equal ardor, but it didn't. The feeling pinched at her sides, flustered her being, and sent a surge of anxiety to her brain that kept her from concentration, which she felt there was no need to do in that situation. She dropped her arms, sliding her hands over his chest and pushing against it gently.

He pecked her lips once more, as the crackling of the logs sounded from the fireplace. She licked her lips nervously, unsure of what to do. She cleared her throat, motioned away from him and shifted onto a comfortable sleeping position to welcome the night.

"Goodnight," she muttered timidly. She shut her eyes tightly, spouting nonsense in her mind and wishing the noise would stop within the next few silent seconds before she went mad.

"Is that all?" he asked, mildly expectant.

"_Is that all?_" she repeated, confused. Her cheeks were burning in sync with a rising tide of embarrassment. "What do you mean is that all? What more are you expecting from me?"

"I'm not satisfied," he stated firmly.

Layla flopped onto her back. "This isn't about satisfaction, Starrk; this is about me professing my inclination towards you."

"You are a troublesome woman."

"Better suiting of a troublesome man," she said with a proud smile curling over her lips.

He sighed deeply. "Touché, darling."

"_Darling_?"

"What do you prefer to be called? My love, darling, _sweetness_?" he asked, moving closer to her with each name. "Please, indulge me."

"Layla."

"What a bore you are, dear?"

Her eyebrow twitched at the sound of his new nickname. "Layla. I prefer Layla."

He leaned closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, and turned her face to his. "What's your real name?"

She placed her own hand over his, closing her eyes shut and leaned into him. "Aishe."

He kissed her forehead, repeating the name she hadn't heard for years in a hushed tone, drowned out by the sound of the crackling flames. "Aishe."

Her mother's voice resonated in her head as Starrk's strong arms embraced her throughout the night. It was soft and melodic; a sweet echo she wished had not been a figment of her imagination, but it was clear. The woman's elusive voice rang in her ears, accelerating her heartbeat. _I have not abandoned you_, she said in that hushed tone she used thousands of times to ensure Rye and Roxanne remained sleeping through the night, though Roxanne tended to fuzz throughout twilight. Little snippets of her past by her mother's side managed to lull her to sleep, that and the strong hold of Starrk's arms.

The night was filled with quiet murmurs.

Never better.

* * *

Layla was having a cup of warm milk when Starrk emerged from behind the drawn curtains, holding his pain-stricken head. He took in the sight of the bright room, though the light seemed to sting his eyes. He found her picking at her breakfast with an evident reluctance to eat and the warm teacup held between both hands. She took a diminutive sip, before looking to him in scrutiny. "You could have always said no to the wine."

"Rovina isn't one for options, though you should know that better than me." He sauntered towards her, fixing his unruly attire in the slightest by tucking in his white shirt into his trousers. He glanced over the food sitting before her, breaking a piece from the jelly-covered bread and eating it. "Bitter."

She took another drink of her warm milk before offering it to him. He took it, taking a generous gulp, though he absolutely abhorred the taste of milk. "I have been fed this weak excuse of food since that doctor made a formal request."

"Do you eat it?"

"I throw it out."

"This is your health on the line."

"I feel much better." She looked over to the oatmeal porridge sitting in a bowl, untouched with a spoon sitting inside, besides it was the half-picked slice of bread—whose taste she hated—with jelly, and lastly a smaller bowl full of fresh cut fruits. The skim milk replaced the tea she asked for. She would have preferred orange juice, but the oranges they had prepared were too sour. "This is torture."

"You have fruit." He picked up a fork, stabbed into a slice of apple sitting besides pieces of oranges, peaches, strawberries, and blueberries, and plopped it into his mouth. "Sweet." He nodded her way, noticing her look towards the frosted windowpanes. He shot a curious glance outside, not surprised about the drop in temperature, yet again, and continued eating her unwanted platter of fruit. She certainly didn't seem to mind, except she did take her glass of milk back.

She looked to him. "You should consider returning to your chambers. Anyone could walk into this scene and misunderstand."

"Except they wouldn't be misunderstanding, we did share a bed."

"Be quiet." She turned away again, picking up a spoonful of oatmeal and having a quick taste, stale and bitter with a hint of cinnamon. Tolerable, she dubbed it, taking the rest of it.

"How does this headache go away?" he asked suddenly, cringing at another wave of unnecessary pain. "Ow."

"Drink plenty of water to rehydrate the body, and eat," she answered, taking another spoonful of her porridge. "Do you feel nauseas?"

He shook his head slowly as if to prevent further ache.

"Eat," she said simply.

"Why don't you have it? You were inebriated when we met the first time."

"Me?" She stared at him incredulously. "I don't get any symptoms following heavy drinking." She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose it runs in the family. Well, except Sun-Sun and Szayel, neither does well with alcohol for precarious reasons. Much like yourself," she added, lying. "You were spouting nonsense all night."

"Was I?" He quirked an eyebrow as he chewed his food silently.

"You called me _Divine Goddess_."

He nearly chocked, and holding a hand over his mouth, he began to cough violently causing an amused smile to her lips. He turned to her slightly wide-eyed and full of disbelief. "I would never say that."

"You weren't entirely present last night to assert that, now were you?"

"I stand by my word."

She laughed, leaning back. "You did call me _sweetness_, though."

"Lie."

"At least attempted to making me conform to the notion," she elaborated.

"Truth?"

"Truth."

He groaned. "How big a spectacle was I?"

"You refused to sleep elsewhere and took my bed." Her smiled turned into a deep, believable frown. "I had to sleep on the couch." She gestured to the lounging chair sitting a few feet from her, by the crackling fireplace, which conveniently held a deep satin pillow with a tassel and a wool blanket. "Not to mention your incessant snoring and the fact I couldn't wake you throughout the night."

He looked positively horrified as he stumbled into the chair sitting across the small table and sunk into it. "Sorry."

"For?"

"Everything in need of forgiveness."

Layla smiled to herself, unable to contain a fit of laughter in the verge of spilling. She was never a good liar, especially around him, but the fact that her fibs seemed like torture amused her greatly.

"Do you honestly not recall anything?"

"I remember little." He rubbed his face as he tried piecing the bits he did recall. "Very little."

She couldn't help but relieve herself of the embarrassment of her words last night. She had been so bold and unladylike. It seemed nothing like her. So she felt it was for the best for him to have forgotten and believed she slept on the uncomfortable couch. There were plenty other things she needed to address, everything that pertained to the announcement and a betrothal he forgot to mention.

She set down her spoon inside the half-empty bowl of oatmeal, finished the final sip of her milk, popped a strawberry into her mouth, and thought everything over before speaking. "Why did you lie when I asked if you were the heir?" she asked with a slight bitterness in her voice.

"The same reason you never disclosed your status," he said dismissively.

"I had no knowledge of the announcement until my father made it," she stated honestly. "Everyone had been under the impression that my brother would take leadership of the clan since he was the only male, either that or my father wouldn't have named an heir."

"Understandable, but…"

He needn't finish for her to understand what he meant to say. "I cannot fathom it. I refuse to. It seems unfair in a mocking sort of way. He has already taken enough from me to let me shoulder the burden of a legacy I don't wish to be a part of."

"These are the sort of burdens we need to shoulder without choice," he said carefully. "I could easily abandon my place, but the old man argues about the family itself being a nest of incompetent males."

"Your family mainly consists of males, does it not? There should be someone else."

"I have a cousin incapable of public speaking, another who would use the power to start a war, and one who would lean towards killing any individual who wrongs him," he said, shutting his eyes. "The old man wouldn't be pleased if a woman took the reign, else I'd nominate Neliel."

That's when she felt the same irritation she had last night. "Your fiancée."

He groaned at the sound of the word. "She told you."

"Incidentally," she said bitterly, shrugging her shoulders with a cold indifference.

"She shouldn't have said anything."

"Were you planning on telling me of you betrothal?"

"It isn't something generally known."

"I asked William this morning and he claimed it to be known particularly well." She didn't mean for her voice to get louder, or for her eyes to narrow in his direction. She was losing control to this awful feeling inside of her. "When did you plan on saying something to me? You asked to court me though you had been engaged already to someone so beautiful, too." She got out of her seat, unable to shake the jealousy and rubbed her arms as she paced the room.

"I ended the engagement for you, isn't that enough?"

"You should have told me!"

"I couldn't."

"Why?" she demanded, stopping abruptly and whirled around to face him. "How difficult was it for you to say so?"

"You would reject me with more reason."

The pain was evident in his tone and she felt like an idiotic child. "You've lied to me countless times."

"I lied for reason. There are things you shouldn't know."

"Like?"

"What use is it to say them when your father already involved you?" His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were turned away from the light that still stung to gaze into. "I can't say anything that you won't find out about in time due to your status."

"That's a useless reason."

"I didn't wish for this."

"What use is speaking about it if you're unwilling to say anything?"

"I don't want this life for us," he clarified strongly.

Layla was taken aback. "W-what?"

"This world of arrogance and power is not where I want to be with you. You don't belong to this world, and I am despised by it. There is no need for us."

"Yet we are the pieces they have chosen."

"There is reason for everything."

"Why me?" she whispered, overwhelmed.

Starrk stood from his seat, moving to her. He reached for her slender frame and crushed her against him, wrapping his arms strongly around her. She needed it. She knew the minute he embraced her that it was exactly what she needed to calm the anxiety and jealousy. She tentatively wrapped her arms around him, feeling him stiffen as she did.

"Were you jealous?"

Her face flushed red and she buried it in his chest. "Very," she muttered, embarrassed.

He kissed her head. "I'm yours."

She mumbled incoherently, her face hot and a deep crimson.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Starrk spent little time with her with her afterward, still refusing to say anything important as if he had all the time in the world, and left her room after one quick exchange. He audaciously asked her to spend the night with him, as he had with her. She swore she would keep him awake all night, and he said he didn't care as long as she was in his bed. He pestered her until she agreed, calling her every nickname she would probably abhor in time until she complied. She did, reluctantly, but did. She felt a curiosity tugging at her insides that wondered how it would be to spend the night in a bed that had his scent embedded into it, and if she would feel safer on his side than she did in hers.

An entire day passed and she still felt her cheeks were stained with color. Rovina stopped by to have tea with her and Halibel, the three talked for hours—even having lunch together. The redhead excused herself early, and Halibel decided to take a walk around the manor once more. Layla spent plenty of time at the piano, playing in the empty room…practicing the same song repeatedly until it flowed naturally from her fingertips. The usually somber music sounded brighter than before, but as all her compositions, it finished early and abruptly. She left after nightfall in the hopes of catching Will tidying up her chambers before she snuck into Starrk's room, which he claimed to never leave unless he was dragged out. She didn't need directions since she asked her way around the servants in the Luisenbarn half until each person pointed her closer to her destination.

Luckily, she found Will cleaning out the fireplace. Fresh logs were sitting at his side.

"William," she called, startling him.

"Yes?" He clasped his hands together, getting the dust out. "Do you need anything?"

"Could you leave the fireplace as is and light it in the morning?"

"You'll freeze!" Concern crossed his features.

"I am planning to spend the night elsewhere—with the Duchess of Cambridge." She wasn't supposed to say anything about staying anywhere else, and if she did, her previous plan was for it to be in Halibel's bedroom. She could easily get away with it since her cousin always slept with the drapes drawn. "We planned on using the adjacent room for necessary conversations."

"Should I tell your father?"

"No," she quickly objected. "Don't say a word. Just—do as I say, William, please."

"I understand." He bowed appropriately. "I will have the room warmed upon your return."

Layla smiled, grateful. Any old servant would ask a billion questions, but this man merely let her be, always loyal and understanding. She waited for it to grow darker, reading by candlelight, until Will returned to say everyone had retired. She took the time to dress into her nightgown and pulled a fur-trimmed coat over it. She bid her servant goodbye and rushed through the shadows to slip into Starrk's room. She felt a rush of adrenaline while padding through the winding hallways, her heart thumping loudly at the thought of being discovered. She jolted at the sound of any noise, but got by without screaming.

She knocking lightly, hiding behind a large marble statue beside the door, and listened close to the sounds from within the room. She looked around repeatedly until the door opened without a sound. She pushed against cold wood and slipped inside, relieved to see Starrk before her when she had.

"Were you seen?" he questioned, taking her hand in his as he shut the door behind her fleeting form quietly.

She shook her head, following his lead back to his messy bed. She looked to him, catching a glance at the side of his face before he yawned, tears coming to the corners of his eyes. "Were you sleeping?"

"I was resting my eyes."

She hesitated, tugging her hand from his, releasing herself. "I shouldn't have intruded."

He plopped down at the end of his bed, placing one hand before her. She looked at it, and then her eyes wandered to the rest of the room. It was the same wonderful décor with a fire blazing in the fireplace at the corner, encasing the room in heavy warmth that blankets seemed unnecessary.

"What if someone comes in?"

"No one is allowed to enter."

"And your servant."

"I don't have one."

She faced him, tentatively placing her hand in his. "Why?"

"I don't need one." He pulled her towards him, tilting his face upward to meet her lips. Her fingers entwined with his as she slipped closer to him, her body pressed against him strongly as his other hand found its way to the small of her back. He kissed her long and hard that she felt her head spinning as they parted. Her body felt tingling and lighter.

She stared at him with a small smile curling over her lips, though she found it hard to believe that they would be together as they were now. She promised not to make stupid mistakes. Whatever feelings she had developed during long weeks she spent by his side were what she considered a generally horrible idea, but Starrk made it seem different. He made her feel sure of following her sentiments, to be bold even though the emotion felt so foreign—but right. He didn't fear the consequences. He could easily promise her a world without them. She trusted him fully as she stood before him. There was no need for hesitation.

She would be safe by his side, in secrecy…for as long as the dream lasted.

He dropped her hand, and moved away, pulling out the covers from underneath him and offering a place for her to crawl over to get through the other side. She tugged at the buttons of her coat and she shrugged it off until it fell to the ground. She climbed onto the bed, her side brushing against Starrk as she fell onto her back besides him. She looked to him expectantly, watching as he pulled the warm coverlet over her frame and himself.

Starrk moved closer to her, noticing how jittery she was.

"What if someone walks in?" she asked nervously. "Honestly. Everything would suddenly go wrong and there wouldn't be peace between us."

An amused smirk appeared on his handsome face as his hand found its place in the hollow of her neck. "No one will see us," he said quietly. "We should rest. The days should grow restless, henceforth."

Layla moved onto her side, facing him as he lounged over the cluster of pillows before his headboard. His arm was propped up and hand holding the side of his face as he stared down at her half-hidden face with that wonderfully intense stare.

"How will we go about this?" she whispered.

"In darkness and secrecy, you said."

Her face flushed red as she drew the covers over her head, thinking how stupid that must have sounded the night she uttered it. _I sounded like a woman of the night, surely I had_. "You needn't repeat such embarrassing words."

"You seemed so serious when you spoke them."

"I w-was," she stated. "I meant it, but…how, is my question?"

"We will meet when our schedules clear," he contemplated. "We shouldn't act indifferent, that would rise suspicious. We should continue acting as we have."

"How is that?"

"I'll continue pestering you, and you can continue being insufferable."

"I couldn't be that bad." She frowned.

"I didn't say you were."

They lapsed into silence as she dropped the blanket from her face and draped an arm over the soft fabric. She kept thinking about the possibility of being caught, and thought up various ways to circumvent the situation. She mentally agreed to follow his suggestions, for them to continue as they were acting before…except with more of a resemblance to their first few weeks of meetings. That would clear a number of rumors about a possible romance surrounding the two enemies. It sounded doable after silent contemplation.

Layla yawned, finally feeling exhausted. When he noticed, he moved closer to her frame, his warm body pressing against her through the thin fabric of his clothes. She shifted against him until she was in a comfortable position, her body curled besides his. His arms wrapped around her strongly and she wished he kissed her once more, as passionately as he had the night before, but she remained silent with her need. She couldn't help but look up to him with a curious glint in her eyes. He smiled, resting his head on his pillow and closing his eyes.

"Starrk?"

"Hmm?" He opened his eyes to see her in the dim afterglow of the fireplace.

"Sleep well."

He held her closer, kissing the top of her head. He leaned into her, breathing in the sweet scent of her dark locks, twining his fingers through the shallow waves. He shifted once more, moving until she nestled into him, laying her head over his arm with her eyes closed and her heart pounding hard against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her securely, fingers caressing her shoulder with the tips of his fingers—gently, slowly…until her breathing grew shallow and her erratic heartbeat went back to normal.

She stayed with desire to kiss him hard, but the feel of his touch lulled her to sleep.

Somehow they would live through the dangers.

They could only hope at that point.

* * *

**Thanks to**: rainy-lullaby, Jazka Star, Starfire8001, Dia de Luz, Sweet And Deadly, cheesebubble, and OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO for reviewing the previous chapter.

**x L i l i m**:

I strove to end this chapter on a nicer note considering the chapters subsequent to this will follow Roxanne because we still have a mystery to solve! And I am excited to solve it with Roxanne and Shinji on the team. Anyhow, sorry for having taken so long to get this up. I've had technicalities with this piece of crap laptop and I've been sick for the past three weeks. SO, I'll probably continue updated a notch slower because...I get extremely lazy when sick. Haha.

New chapter should be up next week though, that I can assure.

Thank you for reading.


	22. Cheap Perfume

**Masquerade**

Chapter 22

-_**Cheap Perfume**_-

_I can hear her voice,_

_Loud and clear,_

_Standing there_

…

_She's patronizing me_

**1877, Late Autumn**

It was raining. The sun was shielded by heavy storm clouds, days before autumn's conclusion. With winter a few days away and the rainy season ruining the caravan's entertainment schedules, Roxanne found herself practicing the dances Mirela, of a traveling circus, had been indulging her with in the privacy of her home. The tent with its heavy tarps was positioned over a squared piece of concrete in the large plaza, which the Roma claimed as their own for over ten years. Droplets of rain fell through the holes on the tarp, soaking the concrete in her surroundings.

She worked on the steps, knowing exactly what she wanted in life. Recognition. Dance was a form of art in her culture. Mirela said the aristocrats had paid her to entertain in social gatherings, so she danced to the best of her ability—impressing the nobles of the capabilities of a mere _street rat_. She wanted the same talent Mirela had, so that she too could impress the aristocrats, so that they would no longer demean her with cruel names and horrid accusations. She practiced, day in and out, sometimes going days without eating and having to deal with Rye's constant complaints of having stubbed his fingers on his instrument. If she would dance, she needed someone to play the music behind her. Her older brother, of one year, seemed right for the job and after asking him in the most saccharine tone, he agreed.

The rain was coming down hard that seemingly silent afternoon as she made the sheer fabric in her hands dance along with her movements. She heard the booming voice of her caravan's chief shortly after, stopping partially through the dance and sauntering to the entrance of the tent. His voice was steely and resentful followed to a quiet murmur hidden behind the _hash_ of the rain. She pushed the tarp enough for a peek.

Roxanne saw everyone standing a few feet from her tent, in front of one of the many old, decorative fountains in the plaza. The bearded chieftain stood besides Matsumoto and Hisana's grandmother, the famous clairvoyant. Before them was a delicate-looking aristocrat dressed in the finest clothes she had ever seen. She felt a distant familiarity with the woman standing before her chieftain, something about her delicate features and her auburn locks tied into a high knot on her head seemed familiar. Her face was pain-stricken as she attempted to speak to the older man, who turned his back to her saying cruel words about her existence.

"_You are the product of vanity and sin; there is no place for you here._" His strong tone was carried by the winds whipping around the small group and spread to the rest of the tribe, who had gathered at the scene—muttering to one another. Everyone spoke in their native tongue, drawing the fine line between two clashing cultures.

Curiously, she ventured out from her home, to the small overhead shielding her from the rain. The aristocrat had a butler at her side that held an elaborate umbrella over her head to keep every droplet of rain from staining her precious clothes, and standing underneath the same coverage was a tanned young man clinging to her waist. His eyes the same shade of green as her own, his skin the same tone, and his messy locks of hair the exact shade of raven as hers—her only brother, Rye.

She didn't quite understand the scene. _Who is that woman? _She asked, confusion enveloping her. _Why does my brother hold her so tightly? Why is she here? Why does the chieftain call her sin?_ She stood still in her perch, opening her ears so they could hear the rest of the conversation. The chief made it clear that if a conversation was not meant to be heard, it would be done elsewhere, so she felt no pity about eavesdropping. In fact, the situation called to her like the toll of a bell or the song of a bird.

The wrinkled seer held her hand out for Rye to take. His grip seemed to tighten over the woman's; her gloved hand caressed his tearstained cheek as she stared wistfully at the elder rejecting her.

"_I came to see these children_," she repeated, faltering. "_They are not mine, but we are of the same blood_."

"_Aishe—_"

"_Do not call her that name, she has been rejected by our tribe!_" the chieftain roared, stomping away from the scene. He turned once after his boots hit the mud on the other side of the plaza, where his home was located along with his sanity, and he looked straight to the woman. "_Begone, these children belong to the tribe, and you are not welcomed here!_"

The burly elder disappeared into his large tent with a disapproving grunt.

The elderly woman, whose clear, blue eyes stared at the young aristocrat in compassion, kept her wrinkled hand in place for Rye to take. Her wiry white hair stuck to her face from the constant rainfall.

"_Aishe, do not return here,_" she began softly. "_You no longer belong to this world. We should no longer exist in your eyes; we are nothing but an imprint you wish to posses._"

"_They are my brother and sister_," Aishe whispered sadly. "_If I can't meet my mother, allow me to see them._"

"_The children belong to neither your mother nor yourself. They are children of the tribe. We are their sisters and brothers, fathers and mothers. There is no need for you. Not after ten years._" When Rye refused to reach and Aishe refused to abandon her place she didn't belong to, the seer took his arm and gave a hard tug. It was enough to loosen his grip, but not to move him. "_Return to that man who is your father. Never return here._"

Roxanne rushed to the prophet's side, grabbing a hold of Rye and jerking him towards her. She knew exactly who this sickly-looking woman was, she was the reason there were no parents to raise her and her brother. She had taken everything from the siblings when her father appeared to take what was rightfully his. Upon recognition, the anger flashed through her bright green eyes, her grip on Rye's arm tightening as she pushed him behind him with every ounce of strength in her smaller form.

Aishe—no, _Layla_—looked at her with wide brown orbs. "Roxanne…"

"_Get out!_" Roxanne shouted at the top of her lungs, the screech resounding through the hollow streets. "_Isn't it enough that you killed our parents?_"

The aristocrat's eyes went wide, the whites going red as the tears rolled down her alabaster cheeks.

"Roxanne!" called Rye, lifting himself from the ground. His voice was equally teary.

"_Repeat yourself,"_ she said, stunned.

Roxanne did, as much as she had to in order to force the outsider to leave the Romani Plaza. "_YOU KILLED THEM!_" she repeated, adding very little to the phrase until her throat began to itch and _Aishe_ could no longer stand the sound of her blame.

She ran with her butler following close behind, calling to her the name she was given by that lunatic she called father. "Lady Layla, please, you'll get soaked."

Roxanne took deep, ragged breaths as she regained her composure, feeling better after getting the frustration out of her system. She hated Layla Aizen from the moment she heard about her. She despised her while her brother loved this _older sister_ of theirs. She could not forgive the woman's existence.

If she never existed…her father would still be alive. She would have gotten a change to meet the man everyone in the tribe spoke about so fondly, he was revered to be a great man with a talent for music and remembered for the unconditional love he displayed for all _three _of his children. If Layla had never been born, her mother would still be around. The old clairvoyant said Jaelle couldn't handle the trauma of having seen her husband be murdered before her eyes, or the sight of her eldest child bathed in crimson. Aishe was taken from Jaelle's arms without remorse, she said, and everyone watched in horror as the reality set. Aishe was the product of a taboo liaison that Jaelle believed she could keep a secret, but there was always something different about that girl. She was different from the other children. Her skin glowed, her features were distinct from the other Romani children, and she had an air of nobility no one could explain.

Jaelle disappeared, never returning, never caring about the children she left behind. She vanished without a trace and it was evident. She loved Aishe more than she did her and her brother.

Roxanne smiled triumphantly. "_She won't come back_."

'"_Why did you say that to her?_" her brother cried, jerking her around. "_Our mother isn't dead! She's alive! She just disappeared. Why would you say that to Aishe?_"

She slapped his hand away, turning from him as the heavy rain pelted against her thin clothing. "_I hate her_."

She had no trouble saying so. She did.

She returned to her home, leaving her crying brother in the rain for him to continue babbling about someone who wasn't worth the trouble. Aishe—Layla—made her first visit that day, after ten years of living in luxury with a powerful family, and even if she had come earlier…she knew the same resentment would wash over her.

It was raining that late autumn afternoon when she told a little lie that tore her sister's heart a large gap.

* * *

**1881, Late Spring**

**Romani Plaza**

Roxanne held the old, golden pocket watch in her cupped hands as she sat cross-legged on a stone bench, staring down at the shimmer as the sun's rays hit the surface. She had stolen it from the chief of the Scotland Yard weeks ago, since then she kept it safely tucked in the sash around her waist. She never beheld a pocket watch, though she had always been curious about the sleek gold, which encased it, and the quiet ticking sounds from the clock within it. She would tap the clear glass, though she was unable to read the time, and sometimes played guessing games at the top of her head. She could spend hours looking at the ornate object on her own. It was how she found peace for the past few weeks. It had worked as a charm, and she felt grateful to have been holding the gold pocket watch after awakening from the nightmare of being auctioned.

Horace Watson had promised her many things, the first was an oath he broke and the rest were lies. He swore he would never sell her in his auctions, promised to give her time to repay her debt with him, and oftentimes claimed her to be the most beautiful woman to grace the land. Soon she realized her _beauty _was not enough to compensate for the loans he gave her, and his time limit between payments had suddenly shorted to the span of a month. She asked Rye to accompany her everywhere she went so they could perform on the streets for change, but they made very little. She always took half of their gatherings for herself, saving them up, but when the final week arrived…she was short. In fact, she barely managed one-fourth of her debt. She had the option of playing miserable to Layla—the idiot would surely fall for the act—but refused to do so. She would never turn to Layla, even if she were the last person on earth. Instead, she turned to stealing. For the last final days, she stole jewelry, wallets—anything of value, really—until the final day the dreadful Horace had announced. She was short by half. She offered herself to him, saying she would comply with all his wishes, but he refused her. He had grown tired of her, but that's when she remembered the unsettling smirk appeared on his face.

_"Actually, dearest Roxanne, I do have something you could help me with."_

Chills ran down her spine at the remembrance of his saccharine tone echoing in her head. He had her captured by his lackeys, asked to tie her, told her the details of his plan, and proceeded to throw her into the cellar where there were other people kept prisoner. Rye had been captured because he stuck his nose in her business—followed her around the entire day until his work led him to the Watson manor—and Horace asked his men to take the boy. She had never felt happier to see him, but dreaded the events that would follow.

Everyone in the cellars was mistreated. She was no exception, but she fought back. It was the reason Horace ordered his men to drug her the hour before the auction. The older man helped dressed her while she was halfway into the stupor of the powdered drug. He enjoyed caressing her body, taking his time as he peeled the flashy clothes from her tanned skin and kissed her nakedness. He spoke crassly and took advantage of her induced obedience. He had her one final time, he said in a sultry tone. He talked throughout the entire session, not once shutting his mouth about the parts of her body he loved and those he hated. Her odium intensified in that instant.

She felt it to that day as she clutched the pocket watch for reassurance. It had taken Layla and an aristocrat named Starrk to get her and her brother out of her mess. She could have gotten out of the situation without her held. She planned to escape after arriving to her new home; from there she would search for Rye and help him run away from whoever purchased him. There was no need for Layla to appear and flaunt her money to the world.

A week had passed since then. Since she put the whole blame on Layla's aristocratic friend, the Viscount L'Isle, and as long as she strayed as far from a muddied path…she lived a remorseless existence. She wanted Shinji Hirako to stop pestering her, and for his deputy Rose to go die somewhere. No one seemed to mind when the Scotland Yard came by the Romani Plaza to question or ask for information—the newest chieftain said that the caravan needed the offerings the officers had to give for every tidbit they could give them. Even if it bothered her, she had no power to overturn Sajin Komamura's standing decision. She overlooked it, talked horribly about everything he ordered, and oftentimes argued about how unfairly the new chieftain asserted his own set of morals. Rye kept her quiet about that sort of thing, and it kept her wandering the streets with mischief on her mind than staying behind to mesh with her gypsy sisters.

Roxanne took a deep breath, putting away the watch in her sash. She pushed her long, billowing black hair behind her ears and scanned the unusually empty plaza with light green eyes adorned by heavy lashes. She slumped over slightly, the gold hoops around her arms jingling as the clashed against one another. She was dressed in a light ensemble of soft red fabric that complimented her mocha-colored skin and brought out the green in her eyes. She fiddled with the ends of her long hair, twining her finger between the waves and curling the black locks around it.

She hated lazy days such as those. There was nothing better to do than sit around and wait for something interesting to happen, or just slip away and search for that interesting something. She chose to wait, too tired to venture into a throng of discriminating nobles and the musky streets of London that only smelled of cheap perfume. She also had no interest in spending time with her sisters. Mashiro, Rangiku, and Hisana were always together, though she had a tendency of attracting Mashiro's attention more often since they were the same age. Rye was too busy practicing with an older member of the caravan. He wouldn't be done until the end of the day, she assumed, bored out of her mind.

"Oi," a voice emerged from behind her.

She tensed, recognizing the blond man's voice all too well to play dumb. She turned with a large, innocent smile gracing her lips. "Chief," she chirped. "I haven't seen you in one _whole_ week."

His analytical brown eyes narrowed at the sound of her tone, but he gestured to her side ungraciously. "Mind if I sit?"

Roxanne scooted away, patting the hard stone beneath bottom. "By all means, sit."

The tall blond man plopped down besides her, pushing both hands into his pockets and staring up at the clearing sky, letting her suffer in silence, she assumed. He never came to visit. He came to heckle her. She could taste the astringency in the air without having heard past that small, seemingly innocent inquiry.

She waited in silence, making noise with all the gold hanging from her body to create the rhythm of music as the second ticked by quickly.

"Didya hear 'bout Horace Watson?"

"Is he dead?" she asked indifferently.

"Yeah, we just found 'im last night."

She turned to him, wide-eyed. "What?"

He merely nodded, looking as tired as he sounded. There were dark circles under his eyes now that she had a better chance to look at him, and his hair, which he usually pulled back, was sitting all around his face loosely. He leaned back slightly, pressing both palms against the stone bench to support his weight.

It had been the first time she had gotten a good look at his passive face, and he was a lot handsomer than she expected. Not as handsome as many of the liaisons she shared with a variety of men, but in his own way…a strange sense of handsomeness. She looked from his face to the cuffs of gold around her hands, partially glad for Watson's sudden death, but curious about the ordeal.

"How did it happen?"

"Strangulation with piano cords, it seems," he answered, following a haggard sigh. He leaned forward, holding his head as his hair fell past his shoulders in streams. "I'm exhausted."

Roxanne sighed, aggravated. "I'm bored."

"I don't care."

"Well, what does it matter if you're tired or not?" she asked, bristled.

"Ya better care; I'm in charge of the Scotland Yard."

"A discriminating asshole has no right to tell me to care for his condition." She jumped out of her seat beside him. "'Sides I heard you let that Luisenbarn off 'cause you hate trusting the gypsies."

Shinji raised his head, glaring at her with the same intensity he always did. "All ya are is a pack of lying rats, is what." He jerked out of his seat. "It was useless coming by here anyways, yer prolly gonna blame this crap on someone else now."

She was taken aback. "You're blaming me for the murder of Horace Watson?"

"Yer a vindictive brat, who else could have done it?"

"Layla Aizen! She liked him."

"_Layla Aizen_," he mocked. "She's got a solid alibi, and before ya mention the Viscount L'Isle, he has one too."

"Why am I being blamed? I'm not strong enough to strangle a man twice my size! And piano cords? What are piano cords?"

"Piano cords are piano cords."

"You are the worst Chief in the history of the Scotland Yard." She whirled around, stomping away, hearing the sound of his voice call to her from the other side of the plaza she just finished crossing.

"Ya take that back, ya brat!"

She huffed, trotting into the hasty congestions of London, to the strong scents of cheap perfume, into a world where gossip decided the popularity of a person, and once his voice drowned out in the background she felt at ease. She never thought of killing a person in her entire life. That time, there was no reason for the man to accuse her of such a petty crime.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Roxanne steered clear of Shinji Hirako's vigilant gaze and led the following weeks in peace, hearing more about grisly murders on the street than gossip. Since the word spread about the beneficiary dying, the times had grown difficult for her and her brother as they attempted to lighten the mood with their street performing. The usual crowd that watched them throughout the performance thinned out by the day until they reached the third month and people began to fear for their lives. It was said only those involved with the Three Families would meet death, but she thought it was bogus. Everyone who died had it coming for meddling in the wrong business. All the murderers were doing was cleaning out the trash.

She hardly minded it, but Rye seemed engrossed in the accumulating rumors that he decided they should put a temporary stop to their entertainment business and use the bit of money they have to feed themselves for the rest of the week. Her brother put plenty of restrictions on her, asking her to return from her wandering before dark to avoid any run-ins with the murderer. She listened to all his warnings, but didn't feel inclined to follow them. She had a full life ahead of her. Dying then and there was impossible. Rangiku read her fortune, and she believed everything that came out of the girl's mouth. She was a professional at tarot reading, so she avoided being swindled by Rye's worrywart personality.

This led to her current nightly walk. She spent the evening with the Duke of Cambridge and he gave her enough gold coins to last her and her brother the entire month. She couldn't be any happier about the turn of events, she thought her and her brother would starve themselves in time, but then the handsome man approached her. He asked her to meet him in an inn at eight when he could easily slip away from his wife. She agreed the moment he mentioned payment and they met. She did as he asked and left the building with a satin sack of gold coins.

Roxanne pulled up her long hair and tied it with a ribbon, letting the long ponytail swing with each of her steps. She was a few streets away from the Romani Plaza where she stood and figured it would take ten-to-fifteen minutes to arrive without distractions until one crossed her path and she slammed into the man hard.

The blond chief stumbled back, cursing beneath his breath and uttering yet another obscenity when his eyes met with hers. "What the hell are ya doing out, brat?"

"Walking." She moved past him. "Everyone is entitled to it."

"That aint what I meant," he stated. "Ya bumped into me."

"You walked into me."

"I didn't."

She nodded. "You did, I saw it."

He kept up with her quickening pace. "Why're ya walking so fast? You hiding something?"

"No." She looked at him through the corner of her eyes. "Why are you following me?"

"I've got a few questions to ask you?"

"I don't want to answer them." She shrugged her shoulders, the thin shawl around her bare shoulders falling to expose the marks on her skin. She felt his eyes burn into her shoulder area where everything from that passionate night accumulated. She drew the shawl back over her shoulder, making sure it broke the contact as the silence went long.

Roxanne stopped suddenly, turning around to face him and forcing him into a halt. "Stop following me."

"Not until you answer my questions."

"I don't feel like talking to you right now."

A sly smile curled over his lips. "Got another appointment?"

She bristled. "That is none of your concern!"

"I'll stay outta your business if ya answer my questions."

"I refuse."

"I can arrest you."

"I can pay for my release."

His eyes narrowed. "Where were you right now?"

"Wherever I wanted to be."

"That aint answering the question."

"It aint gonna happen if that's what you're expect—" A sickening gurgling sound ventured to their ears, it was distant but loud enough for them to have heard. She looked around the darkening streets. "Did you hear that?"

"Shut up, and listen."

Roxanne moved behind him, peering out from his lanky form than standing out in the open to be the perfect victim. The sound got louder, audible even. The voice of a man emerged from the shadows and she followed it with her careful gaze, in time to see the silhouettes being reflected against a tall building illuminated by moonlight.

She reached for Shinji, grabbing a hold of his coat and jerking him around hastily. When he turned, she pointed to the shadows on the wall and he followed them to the crime scene sitting only a few feet from them.

She screamed instinctively, hearing Shinji ask her to shut up again as he attempted to rush towards the killer. She latched onto him, arms wrapping around his and pulling him back. The fear was overwhelming her and evident on her face.

"I saw him!" she lied, trying to stop herself from hyperventilating. "Don't leave me alone. I saw him."

Shinji turned away from her pleas to see the scene had emptied out. Now he had nothing but a dead body, and a frightened woman. He damned his luck.

He loosened up, staring at her directly in the face. "What did he look like?"

Roxanne blinked. "W-what?"

"What did he look like? The killer? The one you said you saw."

She knew nothing. She lied to make him to stay, only now did she realize she had dug her own grave, so she dropped his arm and stepped away from him. A sheepish smile appeared on her face, the gold rattling against her trembling wrists. "I don't think I saw him clearly…the lighting was—"

He looked positively furious.

"Sorry!"

"You better be! Ya cost me the criminal, idiot."

"I didn't mean to! I was scared! What if there was another killer? You would leave me here to die?"

"Who cares? Ya prolly deserve it!"

"For what?" she cried, tears appearing in her eyes. "You're so unkind."

"Ya better figure out who the guy was, or else."

"Or else what?" she stated, wiping the tears from her eyes defiantly.

"I'll throw you in prison."

He looked dead serious about having it done. Roxanne tensed as she took a few steps back and one confident step forward in one fell swoop. Her shock expression turned determined. She could definitely work with this.

"Fine," she stated self-assuredly. "I can do it, but—"

His eyes narrowed, as if he couldn't get angrier and somehow managed himself. "But?"

"You pay me."

"Nuh-uh. Not going to happen." He shook his head quickly, stepping away from her to inspect the body.

"I can be imperative to this investigation. I have plenty of connections all around London members of the beneficiary and loads of other suspicious aristocrats," she said, following suit but stopping abruptly at the sight of the unmoving body. She looked to the Chief, who crouched besides the body as he pulled on a pair of gloves to inspect the pudgy man's body. "I can gather information, too. The valuable kind—stuff that even your officers wouldn't be able to come across—and I'll make sure to keep my mouth shut about everything."

Shinji's face looked deadly serious as he turned the man over on his back, the droplets of blood from the wound pitter-pattering onto the concrete. She could see the wound from her standing, underneath the moonlight. There were deep gashes running along his neck, digging deep into the flesh until she could see the severed veins pouring out whatever life was left in him.

The disgust filled her and she took another step back, the coppery smell of blood penetrating the once clear air. She covered her nose and mouth with the ends of her shawl and turned away from the disturbing scene.

"Strangulation again," he muttered, clapping both hands together and standing. He looked to her. "How much are you asking for?"

"Five gold coins a day."

"Three, yer not worth more than that."

"Four," she stated.

"Two."

"That's unfair."

"Two or nothing."

"Four. Four and I'll have it done by the end of the week."

Shinji reached into his coat pocket after removing his sullied gloves. He drew a tiny sack of coins and tossed then to her. She caught them sloppily, almost dropping them onto the bloodied floor.

"Eight and you have it done three days from today."

"Fine with me."


	23. The Book of Death

**Masquerade**

Chapter 23

-_**The Book of Death**_-

_There is something different in the air_

_I can taste it but I cannot tell_

_How to fix or how to forget_

Roxanne rushed through the dark sylvan without a second thought, hearing the obscene things being hollered beyond the sea of trees she tumbled past. Whisks of precipitation tangled into her hair, sleeked past her cheeks, and the branches left deep scratches along her bare limbs. Her mind whizzed with the possibility of being caught by those men, in fact, she dreaded it. She had seen what they were capable and now she went off and upset them. Still, she had been lucky, extremely so. Had she not decided to trail Shinji after she led him to the discovery of that place, the possibility of her escape might have been slim to none. He gave her the opening necessary to depart without raising suspicions, but she wronged them long before that. They hadn't noticed, of course, not until she fled with Shinji at her heels.

She wasn't sure why she felt so protective of the object. It was all but a bound scrap, but the intrigue it possessed, being protected so selfishly that made her act quick. She thought it to be of indescribable value, the sort of money she always wished to have.

Whatever selfishness drove her it took her through the rough terrain of the forest floor that scraped her already bloodied feet time and time again. She looked over her shoulder, holding her bundled treasure tighter against her chest, to see the dark shadows which pursued them and the flow of Shinji's golden hair. He would have stayed, she figured, but he came on his own and without a weapon. The barbarians inside the building would have turned him to mush; they could have been the largest men she's ever seen. A short recollection of the events prior to their run came to mind. Conversations seemed so vivid she felt as though she were listening again.

An older man with graying hair took command of the building, he ordered the large men to chase after them immediately after the book feel into her hands. And throughout the entire time spent, he seemed only interested in one thing, as everyone in the entire world seemed to obsess over: The Three Families. He relayed the information Shinji offered in exchange of confirmation. It was the most important piece of information to ever come to light after years of speculation, and it had been Shinji Hirako, the apex of the Scotland Yard, to affirm it. He sent a group of his most trustworthy persons on the hunt of the family heirs. All of them seemed spread apart. One in Oxford, another returning from his voyage that afternoon, and the final missing, but from everyone mentioned, she only recognized the name of Layla's creepy half-brother.

Roxanne ducked under a flank of looming branches, but as she did her foot stumbled over the protruding roots of the tree and she fell flat on her face, her treasured package falling feet from her. She struggled to stand after hitting hard when she felt Shinji's hand at the base of her back, push her down and hush her.

A strong wind startled and alerted their senses following the rush of steps snapping old twigs and forcing through the once peaceful setting.

"Which way did they go?" a voice boomed overhead, shaking the leaves overhead.

Shinji calmly positioned himself in front of her, hiding her form as she stubbornly continued reaching for the package. He turned to glare at her, nudging her to keep the movement to a minimum. They had enough protection, but if she kept moving about, they would eventually notice the shaking tree branches.

Her fingertips barely brushed against the colorful cloth she'd used to wrap it from her skirt.

She inwardly regretted getting involved. Thought of how stupid it was to put herself in so much danger and simply regretted the entire experience. But that single moment spawned from a series of unprecedented events.

Hisana's warning started making sense now.

* * *

**Sometime Ago…**

Shinji departed the Romani Plaza a few seconds before Roxanne was approached by one of her companions, having relayed information on the Three Families' current whereabouts.

"He's been coming to visit an awful lot, hasn't he?"

Roxanne turned unimpressed, catching the obvious implication in Rangiku's words and sneering as the young woman in pink came to view. "As if, Rangiku, I'd rather die than involve myself with a man outside the caravan."

Rangiku's smirk remained on her face as she took the empty seat besides her, nudging her playfully. "What kind of agreement do you two have?"

She frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Hisana told me."

"Tch, she should mind her own business."

"No I shouldn't," came Hisana's harsh reply.

Roxanne sighed as she changed her seating position on the bench, straddling it with both legs to get a clear view of the raven-haired girl grumbling behind her.

"Seen anything you like, yet?" asked Roxanne, bored.

Hisana merely shook her head.

"What about those murders? Do you ever see 'em coming?"

"Not unless they're linked to something I've seen or heard of before," she answered, "otherwise no."

"You really letting her get off that easily?" asked Rangiku.

Hisana frowned deeply. "I told you to stay away from the Scotland Yard; you're causing trouble for everyone."

"No, I'm not." Rangiku snickered. "Oh, shut up Rangiku. As if you're any more innocent than I am. I saw you with that—"

"Boy of the Yamamoto family," Hisana finished firmly.

"I don't remember." She shrugged lazily.

"And it's your turn to make dinner," she continued.

Rangiku looked as though she had an epiphany as she stood and bid farewell to her companions. Roxanne recognized that look on her face, mischievous and clearly unwilling. She would disappear somewhere until Hisana concedes to preparing dinner. She'd always done things like that. So as she ventured towards the tents, she couldn't help but chuckle.

Hisana took her cousin's seat and gave her a harsh stare. "You're planning to do something stupid."

She merely smiled in response, no need to say what the young girl already knew. "Oh, Hisana, have you heard about the most recent murder?"

"I haven't gone into town yet—"

"I saw it."

"W-what?"

Roxanne nodded excitedly, though the experience was anything but pleasant. "I was returning from one of my jobs when I heard strange sounds, of course, I didn't see the man's face, but I did learn that the murder was done through asphyxiation. I barely got outta there alive."

Hisana merely shook her head. "I see what you're trying to do," she stated, a hint of irritation in her tone. "It won't work, by the way. Grandma said never to listen to your stories."

"Fine, fine," she said, shrugging indifferently. "You're better off looking for Rangiku; she just walked out of the campsite."

"Oh, I knew it."

She had one day left to find the guilty party and receive her reward, but as of late, the only rumor going around town was that of the _supposed_ Fourth Family. Many nobles considered it a joke gone wrong; others hoped the Three Families finally found their match and she couldn't agree more.

So, she decided to use the rumors on the Fourth Family to uncover some truth behind them, which she had through various means: eavesdropping, conversation, bothering Shinji for all the information he had pertaining to the subject and found something. They weren't particularly flashy, so their identities were hidden, as for their plans, those were also obscure. People speculated whether the Three Families would split their influence into four and welcome the rising clan, or if the purpose of the Fourth to eliminate them.

Either way, since the Three Families disappeared from the London streets, bringing about more serious speculation, the plazas and markets were thronging with spectators exchanging opinions. But after the past two days, she felt she had heard it all without missing a single detail.

Roxanne took a breath and got out of her seat. She had plenty of work left for her to do, outside the pestering investigation burdening her, and remembered having been asked by her brother to meet at the usual place. Even though she had enough money to last them a while, Rye refused to use it knowing exactly where she got it from. He always questioned the places where she managed her money, but whenever their bimonthly brown package arrived, he needn't ask a thing. He merely took money sent by their unknown provider and split it evenly between them.

She only remembered questioning it once to ensure Layla wasn't sending them pity money, she seemed the type to do such a thing—in fact, she helped them by giving them various gifts while growing up. That's what Hisana and Rangiku's grandmother said. It was a quiet, under-the-table deal the old crone made with Layla as final request from their mother. So, Layla used all the money she earned through allowances, she heard, and gave them to the woman asking her to split it between herself and her siblings. She tried buying their affection long ago. Her efforts only reached Rye, but then again, he was probably the only one able to remember the incident with their parents. He didn't talk much about those events because she refused to listen.

She sighed, turning the road off the Romani Plaza.

* * *

Hisana startled Roxanne awake in the middle of the night. Taking in the sight of the younger girl, she groaned and wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Do you know how hard it is to go to sleep in this heat?"

"I know who did it," Hisana remarked rather irritated.

Roxanne bolted out of bed and squealed in utter delight, waking her brother with the sound of her clamor and the shower of praise she gave her already frustrated companion. "I knew I could trust you and your beautiful gift!"

Hisana wriggled free of her grasp and huffed. "You need to stop using me like that. I can't handle getting visions in the middle of the night." She rubbed her temples and closed her somnolent eyes. "Besides this sort of thing is dangerous enough to get you killed, you shouldn't even be getting involved."

"Roxanne, you're so noisy," grumbled her brother from his sectioned side of the tent.

Roxanne busily shuffled around the room, taking clothes out of a large trunk at the foot of her cot. She pulled on a set of mahogany clothes; a skirt and full-length top made of smooth fabric to help against the heat, and swooped down for a stray ribbon to tie up her long locks of raven hair.

Hisana stayed completely still as she recalled the gist of her vision that for whatever reason seemed important.

Rye appeared at the center of the room, shooting an awkward stare. "Why's Hisana here?"

"Don't interrupt her!" cried Roxanne noisily, turning to the girl. "So what's his name? What's he look like?"

"I don't know his name," said Hisana. "But he's the one calling the shots. I can't tell what he does, exactly, but he looks refined like an aristocrat. He's got like this Book of Death he uses to list everyone in and crosses them out when eliminated—"

"What's he look like?"

"Handsome with a mustache—Roxanne!"

Both Hisana and Rye barely managed to call her name before she rushed out of her tent and into the street.

Rye stared after her before shooting a sideway glance toward Hisana. "What did she ask for?"

"Uhm—I shouldn't say."

His eyes narrowed and repeated himself. "What does she want to know?"

Hisana fumbled for words. "S-she told me—"

"She shouldn't be going outside at this hour!"

She jolted. "S-she's probably meeting with that chief—"

Rye started after his sister without letting Hisana finish.

* * *

**An Hour Later**

Roxanne paid a visit to the Scotland Yard before being directed to Shinji's home by one of the few detectives lingering on duty. She rushed through the streets, sure to slip through well-lighted areas to avoid being dragged into any risky business that would be awaiting her. Whether she liked it or not she was plenty involved with the Three Families and not because Layla was her sister, there were darker secrets there.

She reached a quaint neighborhood with maple trees aligning the sidewalks and antique-looking homes made of red bricks. She held a slip of paper between her fingers with the numbers and accurate directions. She ducked underneath the weeping branches and slid beneath the nearest lamppost to read the numbers before lifting her gaze to search the hanging signs by the threshold.

She found the chief's home rather quickly and rushed up the short flight of stairs to knock hard on the rosewood door. The silence she received urged her to continue rasping on the door as loudly as she could before her knuckles ached. Kicking, slamming her fists, shouting Shinji's name over the dead of night all ceased the minute the disheveled man opened the door with an angry snarl.

"Have you been following me?" he asked irritably.

"Don't flatter yourself, I got your man." She smiled exuberantly.

He rubbed his eyes. "Can't this wait?"

"No. Today's the last day. One hour more and it's over."

He groaned, remembering the agreement and opened the door wide enough for her to enter. He walked further in with a yawn. "Jus' don't touch anything."

She sneered, slamming the door shut after entering. She curiously took in the sight of his cozy home, before he slapped down and armchair for her to sit on while he took a seat on a wider couch.

She patted down the leather, earning an odd stare from him, and sat down.

"So, what's his name?" asked Shinji, breaking the silence.

Roxanne blinked stupidly. "Well I don't know his name—" He sighed exasperated. "—But I know what he looks like. Oh, and he's the one that hires all those people to kill the beneficiary. I heard he has this Book of Death with everyone in it—well, everyone in the families, of course—"

"That doesn't say anything at all," he seethed. "I should've known you'd be this useless from the start!"

"I know what he looks like!"

That only seemed to irritate him more. "That's what ya said las' time an' here we are wasting more time."

Roxanne laughed smugly. "Oh, but this time I do know!"

Shinji gave her an even stare.

The silence that followed didn't shake her confidence.

He leaned back. "Lemme hear it."

"He's handsome with a large mustache!"

…

"That's doesn't tell me anything!"

* * *

"Why is it so cold this morning?" complained Layla, holding the lapels of her fur coat together. She stood before the drawn curtains and took note of the frost forming over the glass, exuding the cold she so despised that wintry morning.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist, her back hitting against a hard chest as her cheeks tinged a soft pink. "You're so noisy."

She turned slightly, feeling Starrk's lips touch the apples of her cheeks in greeting before he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"William said the cold should clear soon, it was definitely warming yesterday," she continued with a pout.

"If it warms, you'll find more reason to complain. With such elaborate dresses, tight bodices," he began quietly, hands trailing over the ruffles on the skirt of her dress and then over the curve of her waist before twining with the lace in front. "It isn't a wonder you protest with such fervor."

Her eyes narrowed as she pulled from his tight grasp and whirled around to face him. "You've just returned from morning classes, haven't you?"

"Today, I've taught Lilynette the importance of poetry."

"And you believe such a thing?"

"I ne'er was struck before that hour

With love so sudden and so sweet.

Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower

And stole my heart away complete," he recited, rather proudly.

She snorted. "I never would have thought you were such a scholar."

Starrk shrugged languidly. "John Keats, by the way."

"I'm not too keen on poetry, you must forgive my ignorance."

"I only just memorized the lesson this morning, too."

She huffed, still shivering in her overcoat. "Is there anything you don't read up on each morning?"

He put held his chin pensively. "Not that I'm aware."

Layla sunk into an armchair by the fireplace with her arms wrapped around her body. Starrk leaned into the chair, eyes reflecting the flickering of the burning embers.

"Do you have an obligation to educate your sister?"

"I'd rather keep her from governesses, I've seen disastrous results."

She clenched her teeth, seething. "I do wonder if I am a part of those results."

He dropped his hand over her face, fingers reaching to touch her but she jerked away, and chuckled in response. "So obstinate."

The cold tinged her cheeks, her teeth clattered, and her frustration rose. "We are well into summer, how can it be this area is simply so c-cold?" she whined once more.

Starrk's hand trailed over the armrest as he came to a crouch before her. His fingers reached to touch her lips, gently parting them. "Should I warm you then?"

She swallowed hard, leaning further back. "Do as you wish."

* * *

Layla caught Will heading back to her bedroom and she asked him not to bring breakfast until after she returned to her chambers. He nodded obediently and informed her of her cousin's earlier outing with one of the Luisenbarn women, remembering to remind her of the arrival of her siblings that afternoon. Her father gave her the delightful news yesterday morning, not forgetting to mention the appearance of the final Luisenbarn cousin—the noisy one, Soifon described. When she asked Starrk, he changed the subject. So she bombarded him with curious inquiries but he feigned sleep to ignore her prying.

Layla knocked against the cold doors to her father's chambers, hearing him beckon her inside as though he sensed her coming. She slid into the cold room and felt a deep shudder course through her body.

Her father had already started drinking, wineglass in hand and a bottle of Merlot at his table. He took a seat once she entered and gestured for her to take the other. She did and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt.

"I've scheduled a meeting with the Duke of Burgundy a week from today, I suggest you accompany me."

"Will he be joining us?"

Her father's lips curled into an ominous smile. "Yes, he will."

"You'll be forcing him, won't you?"

"I do not force them, Layla. I offer an ultimatum."

She could already guess what it was without asking. "Is my presence necessary?"

"You could say there is." He took a sip from his merlot and set down the glass. "Would you like a drink?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"There is no need. You only need to observe the situation. We won't be the only individuals speaking to the Duke of Burgundy."

She nodded. Thoughts of circumventing the meeting filled her mind. She had no interest in taking note of her father's manipulations to know the Duke of Burgundy wouldn't choose to become a beneficiary of the Aizen family.

…

"Is there another reason as to why you've asked me to come?"

He got to his feet without answering, crossed the room, and placed his hand on a stack of old journals. "Take these, read through them, and memorize them."

"What are they?" she asked, standing and joining him.

He took them and pushed them into her hands. "That would diminish the experience. You mustn't be so hasty."

He spoke to her like a child since he planned his retirement. He had given her a number of scriptures for her to memorize, most of them a heap of yearly earnings from his known businesses and a series of others her received from different sources. The dirty money, she said mentally as she looked to the bulk of journals in her hands and then back to her father.

"I want nothing to do with your title, father."

He slapped her cheek playfully, a kind smile on his lips. "You have many ties to this world, unnecessary for this line of work," he started, his expression changing as he did. "Enjoy them, Layla."

* * *

Layla entered the piano hall, greeting Rovina and the gentleman at her side with a timid smile. She hoped to play a few compositions before looking over the assignments her father suggested she read. The second she entered she felt the awkwardness of having interrupted something that she took a step back out the threshold, hand on the handle.

Rovina bolted out of her seat. "Oh Layla, you must play a piece for us," she said suddenly. "Jūshirō hasn't been enlightened to your heavenly playing."

She shot a discerning glance towards the man, tentative about staying and being caught speaking to either one of them. And there she was involved in a secret romance with her enemy; the fleeting thought allowed her the kick she needed to kindly smile.

"You shouldn't say such things, duchess."

"Your playing is so beautifully haunting—there is no reason why you should be so modest!"

The long-haired man with the kind expression watched their exchange, eyes locked on the duchess quite fondly and that single gesture answered every question in her mind. Rovina had been always talking about Jūshirō Ukitake from the moment she mentioned meeting someone divine. He was a member of the Yamamoto clan, cousin to Shunsui and brother to Retsu, and out of every other affiliate to the family seemed the most worthy of being the heir—though had been proved otherwise by a pair of up-and-coming children.

"Are you feeling better, Miss Aizen?" asked Jūshirō after Rovina convinced her to play. "I do hope you've been getting enough rest."

Layla's mouth opened. "Are you the physician who saw me that evening?"

"I hope you don't mind. I was the only doctor available with your brother's absence."

She shook her head. "I'd rather it be you than him."

"Oh." He chuckled lightly. "Then it was my pleasure."

"Thank you." She turned on her heel and stepped onto the platform where the grand piano had been nestled. She took her seat upon the padded stool and lifted the cover from its ivory keys.

When she turned her two-people audience, she noted the excitement scrawled over the duchess face and the curiosity of her companion. Before she could consider what piece to play a light rasp on the door disturbed the still quietness of the room and shifted everyone's attention to the intruders which so happened to be Starrk, Neliel, and the Queen's representative.

Neliel excitedly entered, rushing to greet Layla with a suffocating hug that made her tense.

"Neliel," called Starrk exasperatedly.

She ignored him, enjoying the sign of acceptance Layla had given her by patting her back in response that when she pulled away with that beautiful smile on her face, she asked, "What perfume are you using? You smell so nice."

Starrk and the Queen's representative, who introduced himself as Douglas Gray, greeted the Duchess of Cambridge and her companion where she noted how indifferent Jūshirō seemed to be when concerning the status of every family. He patted the seat at his side for Starrk to take and then placed a hand on his shoulder before going on about some conversation they must have held some time ago. Douglas Gray took a seat by Rovina's side after formally greeting Layla with a bow that forced her to stand and forget to answer Neliel's inquiry.

"It's a French import," she said quietly.

Neliel turned in Starrk's direction. "We need to find this perfume when we get back to London."

"Your perfume suits you just fine," he answered lazily.

"But you haven't smelled this French import," she continued. "It's smell like angels."

"I had no idea you've smelled angels, Neliel," said Douglas Gray suddenly. "Would that be why you're such a heavenly woman?"

"How flattering you are, Douglas Gray," answered Neliel, patting Layla on the shoulder as she walked to join the others.

"You best watch out, Neliel, he has a preference for beautiful, _unmarried _women," warned Rovina playfully.

Douglas merely chuckled along with the rest of them with the exception of Layla who merely gazed at the forgotten keys. But she hadn't once felt discouraged about being interrupted because although Rovina tends to forget quickly, she would soon return to pestering her to play a composition. She had yet to decide which, so she took the time to do so, whizzing through various famous ones and few of her own.

"I heard you are in search of a wife, Douglas Gray," Jūshirō said, "and seeing as the entire manor is full of beautiful and sophisticated woman, have you found your pick."

"Oh, it is definitely a treat being surrounded by such classy women; it truly does feel like heaven. As for picks, I do have a few in mind."

"Oh?" questioned Rovina, incidentally leaning too close to Jūshirō that the panic showed on her face. "W-who could it be?"

Douglas Gray, the handsome far most sophisticated man, eyed the room of every female in sight including those passing by the door until his blue eyes fell upon Neliel. She smiled kindly, but showed restraint that expressed her disagreement of the man's choosing whether it was truth or game.

Layla had barely had a good enough look of the man upon entering but had seen him numerous times around the hall and only spoken to him once when he introduced himself before her and the Earl of Surrey. He had a thick mustache that complimented his refinement and an air that beckoned all the attention he received. She had caught herself staring at the man as he contemplated an answer, only when she felt eyes burning to the side of her head and quickly turned back to the ivory keys.

"There is Miss Neliel, but then again, there's Miss Scarlett…" he drawled on a number of young women before turning his attention to her, "and we mustn't forget the exquisite Miss Layla."

"She is quite a woman, she is," complied Rovina playfully.

"And talented, I've heard," continued Jūshirō.

"She is delightful company as well," second Neliel.

"And an awful prude," stated Starrk.

_Honestly, that man_, she inwardly cursed.

"That's not playing nice, viscount," said Douglas as he got out of his seat and sauntered to where she was.

He ran his fingers over the sleek piano as he turned to her with a handsome smile that made her cheeks flush red and a certain individual glare with more reason.

"The youngest daughter of an earl that is not only quite pretty but talent could make a good wife for a man such as myself," he said flirtatiously.

Rovina fanned herself with a deep smile while taking note of Starrk's steely gaze. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the display.

"How about I accompany you to this evening's welcoming party?"

"She doesn't dance nor make conversation, a woman such as that seems pretty useless for a party," interjected Starrk.

Layla bolted out of her seat, anger flaring. "You know, I've had just about enough of you, viscount—"

Douglas leaned over the piano as he gave Starrk an amused stare. "Why so defensive, Viscount L'isle?" he calmly interrupted. "I do understand that the meaning of this gathering is to strengthen the bonds of the Three Families and within them build tiny, specks of agreements you will then disregard, not to develop romantic feelings for your enemy's daughter."

Starrk's eyebrows furrowed, but just as he was about to speak, Jūshirō placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. "I think you misunderstand, Douglas Gray," began Jūshirō with a calm disposition. "The purpose of this gathering is to present our family heirs and develop friendships among the other families as well as discuss a future of business unification, if deemed necessary. Whether either one of the members of our clans develops feelings for another is nothing to find shame in." He smiled in kind resignation. "Of course, that also pertains to feelings on animosity or common disagreements."

Layla noticed Douglas's expression change to match Jūshirō's. His smile twitched at the ends in stagnant anger. "Yes, of course, forgive me, viscount," he said with an apologetic bow, "but I do admit you should push whatever disagreements you posses for this lovely woman aside."

Neliel had nudged Starrk, but he knew well enough to bow his head in apology to account for his crass comments, but said nothing in his own defense that hadn't already been spoken.

Rovina clasped her hands together, drawing back everyone's attention and somehow lessening the tension. "Why not play something for us, Layla?"

She returned to her seat and took a deep breath. "I would love to."

Neliel whispered to Starrk just before the sound of her piano drowned out the noise as her fingers danced along the ivory keys and mind fled to her inner world where all there existed were music notes and endless spring. She completely lost herself for the first time, felt lifted as her fingers lightly pressed the keys with confidence, and the rush that filled her wished she could have chosen a longer composition to entertain her audience.

Though she felt the slightest bit unnerved by Douglas's presence at her side, she welcomed the praise and clapping with modesty and took a step back when the Queen's representative placed a hand on her coated shoulder with a wink. He left her side as Rovina, Jūshirō, and Neliel requested an encore that she couldn't resist.

Once Douglas had taken his seat besides the duchess, receiving a pitiful glare from Starrk, she began her next composition. This time it was longer and most entertaining.

Layla joined them for conversation, taking a seat at Neliel's side and tried to ignore that praise and compliments Douglas Gray had taken to give her to bother Starrk into saying something out of line. Starrk remained deathly silent before excusing himself to tend to important business Neliel seemed aware of.

…

With time, the room was left with her and Douglas Gray. Jūshirō left after Retsu had shown up looking for him and he worriedly got out of his seat asking her why she was out of bed in her condition. Eventually Neliel rushed out remembering she had to meet up with someone in the garden and shortly after the Duke of Cambridge came looking for his wife.

Layla tried her best to keep up the conversation without feeling the least bit awkward, but Douglas Gray had inched much closer for comfort and daringly placed his hand over hers.

"You haven't given me an answer, Layla Aizen," he said smoothly.

"Answer to what?" She attempted to remove her hand from underneath his but his clamped down harder over hers.

"Will you be attending this evening's gathering at my side?"

Layla jerked her hand out of his grasp and stood before he attempted anything else. "I will be accompanying my father, so you must forgive me."

He chuckled amusedly. "Of course, I had forgotten the death of your mother."

She swallowed the bile and forced a calm expression. "If you'll excuse me."

"Would you like me to escort you?" He stood and caught up to her.

"No. I can surely find my chambers well without help." Her patience was running dangerously thin and just as she was about to exit the piano room he took her by the wrist.

Her back hit hard against the door and a groan escaped her as she glared daggers at the smiling fool. "You forget Layla Aizen that I am the Queen's representative and I have much more power than you and your petty family will ever have," he said in an eerily calm tone. "So why don't you allow me to _escort _you to your bedroom and once there? You can offer me a glass of wine. How does that sound, dear?"

"Horrible," she spat.

His eyebrow twitch and his hand shot up to roughly grab her face when a voice interrupted his actions.

"I do not recall giving you permission to touch my daughter, Douglas Gray."

Douglas's grip tightened before completely dropping his hold and his eyes met with Aizen's with a daring smile. "I must have forgotten." He chuckled dismissively as he turned to her with the same hungry eyes. "I do hope to see you soon, Layla Aizen." He walked past her father without another word and disappeared into the hallway.

Layla caught her breath and fearfully slumped against the door, her back aching as it had the moment it collided with the bulky surface. Her father placed his fingers underneath her chin to lift her face. "Was he improper, Layla?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. "N-no, forgive me, father."

"There is no need for you to apologize, Layla," he said, offering his arm to her. "Come, I'll escort you to your chambers."

She more willingly took the offer and followed behind her father's steps. As they stepped out of the room, she watched as his calm expression changed in the slightest at the sight of Douglas Gray that frightened her a bit. But she felt safer in her father's presence and for a split second felt an inkling of guilt of having defied him.

…

Her father left her at the front of her chambers with few parting words.

"Be sure to stay away from Douglas Gray," he stated, taking a step back towards the hall. "I haven't yet found a way to deal with him."

"Yes, father."

He went on his way and she entered her room, shutting the doors behind her silently.

"He took the words right out of my mouth."

Layla squealed as she jolted, nearly jumping out of her skin as she whirled around to face Starrk, but the sight of him made her forget what had occurred a few minutes ago.

He arched an eyebrow as she pounded her small fists over his chest, heart racing and eyes tearing. "Don't enter a lady's room without permission!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I did give the signal."

She lifted her misty gaze as she dropped her hands at her side. "What signal?"

"Our tryst signal," he said matter-a-factly.

She stared at him awkwardly. "We don't have one…"

"Which is why I took the trouble of creating one," he affirmed. "We need one."

"What need do we have of one?"

"I want to be with you at all times is why. One signal could lead to more meetings, which ultimately satisfy my need."

Her eyebrows knitted in frustration. "That's impossible and you know it."

He gave her a tantalizing smirk as he stepped back until he stood before the doors and the click of the lock sounded noisily. "Not if we stay in bed for the rest of the day."

"We have a party this evening to welcome my siblings and _your_ cousin," she cried. "Besides we'll freeze and starve to death here."

Starrk approached her, fingers gingerly touching her pink tinged cheeks. "We'll find a way around it all. Just…spend the day with me."

"I have things to do," she said weakly. Spending the rest of the day with him was quite tempting since they only managed nights and mornings and during the rest of the day tried not to meet as often that it seems suspicious. She did have a number of things to finish, like go over the things her father had given her, draw a bath and prepare for the ball. There was this pink dress she would be wearing that evening that she looked forward to the entire day.

"Layla," he pressed with a deep frown.

"Oh, Starrk," she breathed, irritated as she stepped away from him. "There is no changing your mind is there?"

"None," he answered passively.

She finally plopped onto her plush bed and puffed out her cheeks. "Fine."

Everything else could wait. Parties went on until after midnight in the manor and she could always go over those documents tomorrow morning.

Starrk joined her as he undid his tie and dropped it to the ground. "Let's take a nap."

Layla pouted. "I should have known."

He moved underneath the covers with a shudder and pulled the tie holding his hair together. "Come warm me Layla."

"We're fully dressed!"

He lifted himself slightly. "We could always—"

Her cheeks flushed a dark red. "No! We can't!"

"Prude," he accused, sinking back underneath the blankets.

Layla let out and exasperated sound and jumped onto the bed after kicking her heels. She battered Starrk as he curled underneath the covers complaining about the cold, just as she had that morning. When she grew tired of moving him about, taking a seat to catch her breath as she cursed the man for being a fast sleeper, he quietly got on his knees and draped the coverlet over her head. He wrapped his arms around her and she yelped as pulled her closer.

"You're awful."

He kissed her lips in response, fingers coiling over the ribbons in front of her bodice. "You really do smell delightful."

"I wish you and Neliel would stop smelling me."

He held her tighter. "You're my woman," he whispered in her ear. "Neliel needs to stop smelling you and everyone else that has dared."

"Are we honestly having this conversation?" she asked, ignoring the shudder that snaked through her body.

His lips touched her earlobe and soon his teeth grazed against it. Her body trembled in response. "There's always red velvet cake."

She elbowed him. "Anything but that!" she cried, wriggling free of his grasp but he empowered her again.

His mouth dipped to the curve of her neck and tongue sensually slid over it. She bit her lip to keep it in her but her body reacted to the feel of his lips. "You taste much sweeter."

She struggled against him until she managed to break free of his hold and advances. "I've said no, Starrk."

He planted a chaste kiss on her lips. "I know."

Layla coddled the feelings and dropped down on her side, facing him and feeling immensely uncomfortable in her dress. She definitely understood their standing, knew how quickly their relationship had developed to the point of taking it one step further, but she stopped herself each time and he complied without objection. Even if the temptation was present and she had that insatiable curiosity or that the thoughts plaguing made her blush madly.

He took her hands and brought them to his mouth to kiss. "Stop trying to please everyone, Layla, you know the punishment."

She frowned, face red. "I wasn't even considering it."

"Sleep."

* * *

[**1**] Poem, "First Love" by John Keats—a mid-19th Century poet. The poem is around five stanzas longer, but I though it redundant to add the entire thing.

**Thanks to**: rainy-lullaby, JazkaStar, Starfire8001, and cheesebubble for reviewing the previous chapter.

**x L i l i m**:

I hated Douglas Gray the second he stepped into the piano room. I just want everyone to know. Aside from the obvious struggle in Roxanne's part and the loveliness of Starrk/Layla, this chapter was a such a joy to write. I literally didn't stop writing until it was finished! (I went to sleep extremely late though!)

Also, while writing the chapter I decided not to delve too into the possibility of a relationship between Shinji and Roxanne. I will only be using them to do my bidding considering they're important parts to the plot. So yeah, just so you know.

-:-:-

As for: _why did it take so long to update?_

I was sick all November with only enough energy to attend classes and do schoolwork. I wrote nothing the entire month which includes the first two weeks of December. Same reason. I am now in Winter Break, without illness, full of energy and ideas that I decided to host the: Choosing Favorites thinga-ma-bob that happened a few months ago.

For those new to reading, what you basically do it vote in the poll on my page (which has been up since the second week of December, and has already garnered a bit of votes) for your favorite story(-ies) or whatever you want me to update faster (or either one). For anon readers, you can vote through review, but that also goes for those with FF accounts. (Anon votes-and I mean actual anon's-count for two since they can't vote in polls.) All you have to do is jot down the story you vote for in the review (five is the limit), and that's that. I'll tally those votes together and put them on my profile page for everyone to see.

As for prizes. The story to receive the most votes-accumulated-will have a chapter updated everyday for an entire week. (Seven whole chapters people! And trust me, it will happen.)

The only difference this time around is that the top five stories will get bombarded with updates! It'll be as so: First (7 chapters), Second (6 chapters), Third (5 chapters), Fourth (4 chapters), and Fifth (3 chapters), while everything else will only be updated twice.

**There will be tie-breakers this time around.**

You guys have the rest of my winter break to vote (as I will have it to finish up the rest of the chapters, har har.) So, please do, vote...a lot! [**This will be copy-pasted on all my new chapters.**]

Thank you for reading. :D


	24. Myriad of Lies 1

_Happy Birthday **cheesebubble**!_

**note**: enjoy the fruitiness of this chapter.

* * *

**Masquerade**

Chapter 24

-_**Myriad of Lies 1**_-

_I do notice, though,_

_That the longer I continue writing, the less I understand._

_With or without proper guidance I cannot capture a number of emotions._

_You've turned different now, lost that smile._

_All you are is fire. _

_Burning brightly, flickering in uncertainty, and destructive,_

_Oh, so destructive_

"You haven't told me about yourself, yet."

Layla blinked, closing the tattered book over her lips as her brown eyes found Starrk lying on his stomach beside her on the comfortable, wool rug. His arms were crossed underneath a pillow he had his head resting on and his eyes intently caught her curious gaze.

"You already know about me, is all," answered Layla passively as she shifted her attention back to her schoolwork. "What need is there for me to say anything if you know it all? Besides, the one who hasn't told me a thing is you."

Starrk frowned while dropping his gaze and relaxed his shoulders. "It's a boring story."

After reading the same sentence twice, she shut the book and placed it atop the stack besides her and indulged in the platter of fruit Will brought in a few hours ago. She took a slice of apple and plopped it into her mouth.

She inched closer, her hip pressed against the side of his body, and a mischievous smile on her lips. "Why don't you tell me about your family then? You have more cousins than anyone, don't you?"

"Admittedly."

"What is it like having such a big family?"

"As normal as having none."

She frowned deeply. "Why are you avoiding the topic?"

"Everyone is noisy." Her eyebrows rose as he moved onto his back. "Everyone is either arguing or doing whatever it is they do, but loudly. Neliel and Ulquiorra are the most tolerable aside from Lilynette. It's hard to take a nap in that house, especially when everyone's together."

"At least you all spend time together. Everyone in my house is as quiet as a mouse. I can spend days without speaking to anyone since they all keep to themselves," she said. "I suppose I am enjoying this outing, not because of everything I've learned, but because there are so many people to speak to."

"I was hoping to not attend."

"Why?"

He shot her an odd look. "The obvious reasons."

"I see."

They lapsed into silence and she went back to going through her schoolwork.

Her eyebrows curiously rose as she read through a messily written passage. "Is it true your family owns the Black Market?"

Starrk shot up and snatched the book from her hands. "What are you reading?"

"I'm studying, Starrk."

He tucked the book underneath him. "There are certain things better left unsaid."

"Your family owns the Black Market, doesn't it?"

Starrk shook his head.

"Then?"

"We own legitimate businesses around the world."

She nearly scoffed. "Please return my book."

"There are plenty other things for you to indulge in than nonsense history."

"Unless we attend this evening's gathering, I have nothing to indulge in but my _studies_."

He said nothing in response, merely reached to the platter of fruit for a strawberry which he placed between her lips. Her face flushed as she felt his teeth graze against her lips while taking a bite of the fruit. She understood what he meant by indulging in other things and temptation was not something she felt jubilant about experiencing.

It tasted remarkably sweet.

"Quite an entertaining game, isn't it?" asked Starrk with a suggestive glint in his eyes.

"You shouldn't tempt me, viscount."

He kissed her lips gently. "Know you ensnared me first," he whispered. "You choose now."

His idea of a game was fairly simple and curiosities did tend to sway her quite easily, especially those pertaining to the viscount. The fruit was the only thing standing in the way of growing temptation and admittedly, had not been the first time either one indulged in such a game with one another. She had no trouble accommodating to it as she reached for a slice peach within the silver platter. She held it between her lips when she pushed him onto the ground, surprising him, and placed it at the base of his neck. She saw him gulp as she bent over his body to the fruit.

Starrk felt her tongue move over his neck, the sensation aching within him, as she pulled away with an evocative smile. His entire body tingled as he roughly switched places with her and took the nearest fruit, another peach, and placed it on her chest. She shifted beneath him for better comfort as his warm hands coiled over both arms with a bit of pressure. An alluring look crossed her features and her lips curled amusedly just before he dipped down. Hot breath flushed her skin with horripilation, long tresses caressed it, and when his lips kissed met with sensitive skin, Layla bit her lip to stifle a gasp.

He took his time to take the fruit from her boson, taking small bites to return for more as his control, with every feel of skin pressed against his lips, weakened. He hungrily kissed her mounds as his hands slid up her bodice to cup them. A quiet gasp escaped her parted lips, fingers curled and uncoiled with growing titillation. He met her gaze shortly after consuming the final piece of fruit, tongue licking the sweetness from his lips.

Layla breathlessly dropped him back onto the soft rug beneath them, her fingers lacing between the buttons of his shirt. She pushed out button to button, pulled the rest from his trousers and ran her hands over his chiseled torso exposing him to the warmth of the hearth. His eyes reflected the dancing flames as she tentatively placed a slice of kiwi on his abdomen and pushing her auburn locks behind her shoulder, she bent down to kiss his stomach. He inhaled sharply upon contact as her hands greedily explored the plains of his firm body, tongue lingering even after having swallowed the fruit to lap up its juices.

He breathed her name before taking control of her body; a small moan falling from her lips as he trailed kisses over her neck and pushed her onto her stomach. He carefully pulled apart the lace that held her bodice in place and subsequently removed the corset that shaped her body. His hands touched her chilled, redden skin, dotted with the outline of the corset and kissed along her spine before adding a slice of mandarin.

Shivers flitted through her body as his teeth grazed over her skin, fingers greedily feeling the passions within her obliterated any standing objections. He wrapped his arms around her, lips rushed past the curve of her neck, hands trailing from their perch to feel the tenderness of her pale skin, a feel of the forbidden. Her alluring scent filled him, a soft rush lifted him, and the passion compelled him.

Layla's back arched against his firm body, face twisted in pleasure when a quiet, discerning sound drew her attention from the situation long enough to see the handle on her door turn.

She gasped loudly, heartbeat rattling in her ribcage in fear, as she pushed Starrk from her and gathered her bodice in her arms. A rush of fear overwhelmed her as the door opened just enough to expose their forbidden tryst to the eyes of her butler.

Will stood perfectly still for the entirety of a minute as Starrk cursed beneath his breath and draped the nearest blanket over her body. "Dear god," he whispered, blinking in perplexity. He took a firm step back, hand back on the handle as the mortification intensified the atmosphere and merely standing there bearing witness to something he should have not pushing him to leave immediately. "E-excuse me."

"William, stay!" cried Layla, holding together the blanket over her head.

"What use is it asking him to stay?" asked Starrk.

She shook her head. "Be quiet."

Starrk stood and began buttoning his shirt as he paced about the room in wait of the frightened butler to stay.

Will took a tentative step inside and quietly shut the door behind him, staying with his back to both aristocrats. "I will wait until you are fully dressed."

…

Layla had Starrk help her tie the corset and fix the bodice of her dress before he excused himself, frightening her butler on his way out with a simple glance. She waited for the door to close before addressing the problem at hand and took a seat in the nearest armchair. Her cheeks were tinged a light pink when the young man turned to face her.

"William?" she called quietly.

"Y-yes?"

"P-please say nothing of this to father," she whispered diffidently.

"That was Viscount L'Isle—"

"I understand the problem, William," she answered with a curt nod. "I just can't seem to accept it."

He looked troubled.

"If it is discovered…" Her voice broke in bitterness as realization broke through her alluring fantasy. "I will assure you that you will bear no consequence. Just, please, do me the favor of…keeping it a secret. I will ask nothing more of you. Only this."

It had yet to be a week since the start of their liaison and they had already been caught, by a butler, but discovered no less. Her heart thumped outrageously loud and fingers trembled as she failed to realize the real danger behind nourishing a forbidden relationship. She hadn't thought things through as well as she may have believed, she understood that.

Will mentally went through a number of punishments he would receive if he ignored such a thing, but he swallowed hard. His mind blanked as he straightened out with newfound composure and bowed deeply. "I will take it to the grave, my lady."

"Thank you."

Silence.

"Now," he started. "Your father requested your presence in the drawing room."

Layla bolted to her feet and quickly searched the ground for her shoes, reassured when Will picked them from beneath her bed and placed them in front of her with an amused smile on his face.

"Have Sun-Sun and Szayel arrived?"

"They were only just escorted to their chambers a few minutes ago."

"Are the preparations for the gala complete?"

Will nodded. "Miss Claire managed well on her own, it seems. Lord Fletcher didn't find room to complain he loved it so much."

"I expect they will be as flamboyant as Lord Fletcher," she assumed passively.

"Or worse." Will shrugged.

Layla shook her head in disapproval, feeling an inkling strange but appeased as she left her chambers to meet with her father in the drawing room. Will stayed behind to tidy up her bedroom and clean the hearth before returning to his duty downstairs, where Claire assigned him to kitchen duty where he would test the food and offer changes to the appetizers that would be served during the gala.

…

Layla entered the drawing room and swept through every individual present. Her father and brother seemed to have been the only one's standing, while Halibel sat with her sister Mila Rose in one of the couches and Sun-Sun sat on the seat across them. The atmosphere wasn't particularly hospitable as she greeted everyone only to receive weak responses out of her sister and cousin, both of whom were overshadowed by Halibel's welcoming. Szayel might have been the only daring one to wrap his arms around her in mock worry after being told a different physician had seen her during the trip.

Her father leaned near the mantle of the fireplace, sloshing a glass of white wine in his hand before speaking. "Tonight's gala will formally announce my heir along with those of the other families. I do expect each and every one of you to attend."

The room remained rather silent until Sun-Sun spoke, shooting a sideway glance to Szayel. "You would do well to look the least bit presentable, brother; no family will take you serious otherwise."

Szayel chuckled discerningly. "Either way, my presentation is of no importance." He shot a narrowed look in Layla's direction as he left her side with a mocking smile. "I do think it unfair where you have decided to leave your burden though, _father_."

"What?" questioned Sun-Sun, snapping her matching fan shut.

"I agree," added Layla.

Their father merely shook his head. "My decision has already been made." His eyes lifted in her direction making her swallow the lump in her throat. "Do make yourself presentable, Layla. We will give our guests what they have been waiting for ages."

"That's absurd!" cursed Mila Rose, rising from her seat with a flick of her hair. "What good is she to lead what has taken years to create?"

"Do not question me, Mila."

"You are making a grave mistake, father."

"Mila Rose, Sun-Sun," called Halibel, quieting the bickering that followed a slur of objections.

Layla remained at the center of the room, listening to insults and pleas to reconsider that her father refused to acknowledge. Everyone with the exception of Halibel could list reasons as to why she made a poor choice and the atmosphere grew tense and cold. Voices overlapped and flowed. The berating had not ceased, not even after they were excused. It followed her down the hall and all the way to her chambers where she could hear the walls repeat the reasons in soft, angry whispers.

She had done nothing wrong. She had no ambition to even find her position the least bit deserving. The reigns her father imposed on her were rusted and covered in flecks of crimson. She hated the feeling.

The overpowering emotion. Everything. Hated.

* * *

The Luisenbarn gathered in similar fashion in a room with high ceilings and mahogany walls, furnished in the finest sets…fitting for a King. Starrk hated the gaudy decorations as much as he disliked being in the same room as all his male cousins, Neliel and Lilynette were asked to stay behind for obvious reasons, but that hadn't stop either one from eavesdropping with their ears pressed to the twin doors. Starrk had found them on the ground huddled up with their hands on sleek surface, not a guard in sight to alert Barragan. He merely shooed them as he entered, but could tell both returned to their perch after the doors shut behind him.

Everyone was already inside. His grandfather sitting in his favored armchair with two guards at his side and his cousins each sat in their own seat surrounding a coffee table. He leisurely slipped into his own chair, sitting right across from his bothered grandfather, with both Nnoitra and Grimmjow at each side and Ulquiorra sitting closest to Barragan across the empty seat that belonged to his half-sister.

"How the fuck are you always late?" complained Grimmjow.

He would have thought the long trip may have tired Grimmjow enough to not hear the sound of his voice, but it seemed to have been wistful thinking as he chose to ignore him.

Grimmjow huffed. "Asshole."

Nnoitra sneered.

Ulquiorra merely turned his head.

Barragan cleared his throat. "My decision has been finalized. The new heirs will be presented this evening."

Nnoitra and Grimmjow seemed eager at the sound of that. Both grew up coveting the title, argued/fought over it, and slated their competition by smearing names and ruining reputations. He'd have a secondary inheritance were he to count how many times both mentioned becoming the heir of the Luisenbarn clan. And today evening, as he hoped to skip, both would learn that neither gained the coveted title.

"Who have the other's chosen?" asked Ulquiorra.

Barragan grunted. "Yamamoto chose a couple of brats and Aizen presented his fragile daughter." He sneered especially at the absurdity of Aizen's choice the most. He thought it to be a joke, said a woman was unworthy of taking care of something so important, but that was when he started thinking and plotting.

His grandfather already planned to destroy the Aizen family the minute Layla took control. A fragile woman will be easiest to obliterate, he said numerous times.

Starrk listlessly listened to the chorus of laughter coming out of Nnoitra the minute he heard of Aizen's choice. Grimmjow seemed more bothered than amused.

"That redhead?" asked Nnoitra. "What's her name?"

"Layla," answered Ulquiorra.

Starrk frowned, sinking into his seat further as he tried ignoring the explosion of hysterics that followed.

"Why don't we jus' kill her now?"

"He should fork over his power instead of wasting it on a meager woman," stated Grimmjow.

"She will be taken care of," said Barragan. "Right, Starrk?"

Starrk stifled a yawn. "I suppose, yes."

"Lemme have her, I'll have her dead by the end of the evening," suggested Nnoitra with a wide smirk.

"There is a time and place for everything, Nnoitra," stated Barragan, "and I trust, Starrk has it well under control."

Nnoitra turned to Starrk with a glare. "Well, do ya?"

Starrk arched an eyebrow in response, leaning over the armrest.

"You should've given her to me, those Aizen girl's are lookers, aint they?" Grimmjow said with a suggestive smirk. "There aint a bad apple there."

Nnoitra laughed in agreement. "Did ya seen the chest on the blond?"

Barragan bristled. "Enough! Our only focus is that meager woman, no other. We have no need of any other _mistakes _in this family."

Starrk's eyebrows furrowed, knowing he referred to him.

"So, who'd ya pick, ol' man?"

There was a long, aggravating silence that only managed to build tension between everyone in the room.

"Starrk," Barragan stated, and quickly snapped, "And I will tolerate no objections."

Nnoitra and Grimmjow simultaneously bolted out of their seats, the latter's chair slamming hard onto the ground as their anger flared.

"What the fuck kinda choice is that?"

"Bullshit!"

"Neither one of you barbarians fit the role," added Ulquiorra snidely, turning to his grandfather with scathing look. "I will be returning to my chambers."

Both cursed at Ulquiorra the second he insulted them, but the youngest merely left the room as the protests continued.

Starrk yawned as he watched his cousin's destroy the room in their frustration and heard insult after insult referring to him.

"He's nothing but a lazy bitch, what the fuck's he gonna do for the family?"

"He'd probably trade it for a nap!"

"This fucking mutt can't have it."

"—I fucking did—"

Once he grew tired of listening to their insults, he stood, drawing their attention.

Grimmjow crossed the distance between them and grabbed him by the jacket. "Tell him to change his fuckin' mind. You're not worth the trouble."

Starrk sighed as he grabbed a hold of his fist and tugged free of his grasp. "Fine," he said passively. "You have it."

He didn't stay to hear the rest.

Neliel and Lilynette congratulated him outside.

"I'd rather it be you than them," whispered Neliel.

Lilynette nudged him proudly. "You better not ruin it."

Starrk shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see."

"Are you going to see Layla?" asked Neliel suddenly catching up to him, the small blond a few steps behind the taller woman.

"No."

* * *

Layla lay tucked under the heavy coverlets before the celebration commenced. Will brought out the pink evening gown she had wholeheartedly hoped to wear all morning long hoping it would lighten her mood. That evening, he had stepped into her chambers to see if she and the duchess were ready for the gathering. He directed the Duchess of Cambridge to Layla's bedroom a few minutes prior to his visit and eventually sent Claire to help her dress. But the second he entered the room, he found it deathly silent save the sound of crackling embers.

The blond butler seeped through the room curiously, and cracked open the door to the adjacent room to find it just as empty as hers. He quietly shut the door and approached her bedside.

The auburn-haired aristocrat was buried beneath her covers, drapes drawn along her massive bed. "Lady Layla Aizen," he called properly. "I understand your presence at this gathering is of utmost importance. Do you plan to attend?"

After a moment's silence, she answered. "I haven't yet decided." Her voice was but a meek whisper.

He looked all about the bedroom once more. "Where have the Duchess Cambridge and Mistress Claire gone?"

"…Both were dismissed."

"Why?"

She remained quiet; the stillness of the room worried him deeply. He felt the reason for her sudden change in disposition did not pertain to the discovery of her relationship with Viscount L'Isle, but he thought it out of place to ask. Even if the concern gnawed his insides, he could not sound the words.

"Would you like me to request the presence of a physician?"

She no longer answered.

"Excuse me." He bowed and strode out of the room in hopes of finding a physician that may give reason to her fallen state.

…

Will returned to his post at Layla's side with Jūshirō Ukitake, the same physician which tended to her around a week ago, and the Viscount L'Isle who caught hint of the rush. The gathering was only half an hour away from starting and last minute details plagued Claire who had been running from the hall to kitchen to piano room and back to meet with Lord Fletcher's approval. Strangely enough, they found Layla sitting at the foot of her bed dressed in a nightgown with her hand massaging her shoulder and her brown eyes glued to the ground beneath her pale feet.

She raised an eyebrow at the sight of her visitors. "William?"

"I was worried," he answered straightly.

Jūshirō took a step forward. "Are you feeling unwell, Lady Layla?"

"I feel fine," said Layla, "Excuse William, he tends to exaggerate."

Will fought the urge to huff as he took the blame for burdening the doctor, but the older male did not easily give in to her words. He offered his services after noting her pallid complexion and after some urging, she complied. Everyone was asked to leave the room momentarily and both he and the viscount stood out in the hall, greeted by the silence of the vacant floor. Most of the guests had already been ushered into the hall. The sound of the opening song of the orchestra filled every room in level ground and scarcely drifted to their ears.

He quickly took notice of the viscount's stare, but said nothing in response to it. He merely straightened out his evening uniform, hoped the waistcoat was without a single crease to avoid trouble with their house steward and Lord Fletcher.

He stood properly at the foot of the door while the viscount slouched against the wall with a sigh, both listening to the muffled exchange between Layla and Jūshirō. They were normal questions any doctor asked their patients, nothing out of the ordinary.

As time continued to pass, the viscount merely straightened out and turned in his direction.

"Tell your mistress I'll be waiting in the hall."

"Yes, my lord."

…

Jūshirō Ukitake once more asked for Will to play closer attention to Layla's diet. She has not been getting the nutrients necessary for a young lady and reiterated the rest of what he had said to her. She needed plenty rest to avoid any faint spells and aside from another dietary change, there was nothing else mentioned.

Will stepped inside after seeing the doctor off and searched the room for Layla, but found her shortly after sitting in front of the fireplace.

"Can you prepare a bath?"

"Right away." He took a step back toward the door when she spoke again.

"Where is the viscount?"

"He said he would be awaiting your arrival downstairs."

She said nothing more in response and he departed.

* * *

Layla stepped down the grand staircase, eyes sweeping through her crowded surroundings, to the chime of voices which called out in greeting at her lonesome appearance. She continued with only a formal bow in appreciation and slipped down the nearest corridor to reach the hall where the melodic music emerged from. She was dressed in a pale pink ensemble. The bodice of the sleeveless gown was low cut and heart-shaped with intricate lacing that held it together at the back with long gloves that settled past her elbows. The skirt draped two crossing layers at the front as back fell like a cascade of fabric which swept the ground. She wore an elaborate silver-gold necklace with a black diamond set in the center and matching earrings which were hidden beneath the brush of her long auburn locks.

Her heels clicked along the marble floor as she neared the hall, catching more attention than necessary and earning a series of unpleasant whispers from nebbish women standing along the wide hall. She felt a little overdressed after stepping out of her chambers, but took notice of the elaborate gowns many women wore that evening.

The doors to the hall were pushed open by a pair of men in uniform and the gaudy decorations filled her vision. There were bright golds and reds; marble statues that stood along the walls, colors swarmed the dancing area as women were twirled in the arms of their partners, the clamor of the guests nearly drowned out the sound of the orchestra.

Layla's red lips parted slightly as she searched the room for her father, who stood in a crowd of his beneficiary. As she stepped down the short staircase, her eyes once more travelled in search of another.

Starrk stood in his sister company, as always, dressed rather messily with a full glass of wine in hand and a bored expression on his face. He didn't take notice of her arrival.

She met with her father, who upon contact signaled Lord Fletcher to commence the main event.

As Lord Fletcher with his heavily powdered face stood on a platform, turning to the orchestra and signaling them to cease the music, her father leaned to her. "You are late."

"I considered accepting your offer," she answered distastefully.

"Oh?" His tone turned amused as he offered his hand to lead her. "And to what conclusion have you arrived?"

Layla forced him to halt as she did and in the softest voice she could muster said words he would have never expected. "I want my mother back. With that, I will take charge of this despicable clan."

"Your mother is dead, Layla."

She forcibly drew her arm from his and turned to him with a glare. "I am not a child anymore."

She moved past him towards where Lord Fletcher continued his wordy speech to the public, to where the three clan heads were heading to stand beside and along with them the reason why everyone present curiously accepted the invitation. She pushed through to the front of the crowd, and shortly after was met by her father and the rest of the members of her family.

She stood proudly, deluding the thoughts threatening to knock her back to her previous dejection and fright. Szayel and Sun-Sun could glare and object as much as they wished, but their father's decision would not be overturned. And while wondering why he had chosen her instead, she considered the things she could acquire with her new status. She tried to think of everything she had always wanted in life. That sort of thing kept her silent for hours, without need of visitors, and she wallowed in her thoughts for as long as she could before another disturbance came along.

What is it that I desire? The question lingered in her mind.

But she knew the second it appeared that the only thing she wished was confirmation. She only wanted to avoid losing that slither of hope a palm reader instilled in her, though she constantly told herself otherwise. She wished to see that Roxanne had lied about their mother, as Rye often said. Their mother merely ran from consequence, abandoned all her children to avoid suffering for the loss of one. She treated them fairly in that sense, she would think. Neither one had grown with a mother's affection, each suffered unconditionally in their set environments.

It had been fourteen long years since she last breathed the smell of her mother's hair, since she had been touched by soft hands, and been spoken to with loving words. Deep down inside, Roxanne's words so long ago hurt her greatly, but she was no longer a child.

She underwent enough changes to leave the past at a standstill.

Surely Jaelle still lived.

And she would accept anything for a chance to meet her once more, if only for a second.

"Today is the night you have all been waiting for ladies and gentlemen, the grand introduction many of _us_ have spent years of speculating, and now—on this precise night—you will meet the future leaders of these exquisite families, _alas_," boomed Lord Fletcher jubilantly. "We will be the first to know of the Second Generation to come."

Voices arose from the crowd, many individuals making final speculations before the Aizen, Yamamoto, and Barragan were singled out among the horde of people. A silence followed as they took a stand by Lord Fletcher who eagerly questioned them and as if every one of them had rehearsed the scene, the heirs were gestured onto the platform to be stared at like the world's biggest wonder, though they were. There was no telling how far the influence of the Three Families' stretched, but with every passing year it covered a territory they had never reached before and soon the world was set to be engulfed by their limitless power, inside and outside shady businesses.

Their names were known around the world.

Famous individuals from all around gathered there for this moment, the invitation everyone waited for, and as she along with Starrk, Byakuya, and Gin joined the current family leaders the room had gone eerily silent.

Whispers followed shortly.

"My, my, what a selection we have here," chimed Lord Fletcher, winking in Layla's direction and taking note of the bickering children in front of Yamamoto, to the boredom etched on Starrk's face.

Layla soon heard the inconsiderate murmurs which followed, each predominately arising from the male portion of the crowd, though plenty women felt it improper for a woman to undertake such responsibility. She lowered her gaze as she was the only one bombarded with such insults, but her father needn't feel a need to reconsider his choice. She could tell that much from his face.

She took a breath and just as the wintry air mixed with the sweet fragrance of wine, the lights overhead and beyond the hall shut off.

A rush of steps came and the startling screams echoed through the ballroom.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

For the life of me, I could not think of a title for this chapter and those that follow. I went through ten, nine of which I don't remember since I wrote this two days ago and the one that I do remember is, "Mystery Game" which sounded a bit dumb. Actually, I'm still not entirely happy with my choice in title, but I think it will serve its purpose.

Also, I changed the genre tag from "Hurt/Comfort" to "Drama" as it is more suiting of the chapters to follow. I hope that by the time the New Year's chapter goes up...no one will hate me. D:

-**_you are allowed to skip what follows...unless you wanna catch a glimpse of what I do on my free time._**-

So, yeah, about the quick update thingy, aside from the obvious. I asked my good friend cheesebubble what he wanted for a birthday present aside from the tangible objects I will be giving him when their shipment goes through, and he asked for the obvious shit (clothes, cologne, weird male stuff) and since my Birthday-and-Christmas and my debit card is just an cheap excuse to make me look important, I asked, "Hey, if you could have me post a chapter for _any _story, which would you choose?" You know what he said? He said, "Dementia." And I was like, _this motherfucker_, and said, "I thought you said Masquerade was your favorite, traitor." So he underwent some deep, thirty minute contemplation before deciding again. You know what he chose? Dementia again.

And I rephrased my inquiry to, "any chapters of your favorites," and he said Dementia, Fallen Leaves, Venomously Attractive and Masquerade. And I thought to myself. _I don't wanna write Fallen Leaves or Venomously Attractive this week, what the fuck?_ And I did the changing to the question once more, "two chapters of your favorites."

And here we have it. Masquerade Chapter 24.

I only wanted a cheap excuse to write two chapters this week. Haha.

-**_end_**-

Thank you for reading! :)

-_whispers_- vote. through poll or review. everything counts. -_whispers into the wind._-

P.S. Anyone played Heat the Soul 7? I've been blatantly abusing Starrk's character since I got it. You should hear me giggling like an idiot.


	25. Myriad of Lies 2

**Masquerade**

Chapter 25

-_**Myriad of Lies 2**_-

_There is no love here,_

_Only lies_

_Coated with saccharine words—_

_Not an inch of affection_

_Just empty expressions_

_Emptiness that holds me tightly_

_And grievance which compels me_

Astonished gasps and yelps echoed, sounding much louder with the hall's amazing acoustics. The sound of rushing steps filled the vestibule of the hall, smashing glasses, clattering trays, the protests of the guests with every shove as a series of intruders entered the perimeter. Guards had blended in the crowds that evening, though many were well-known among the guests, where present to assure the safety of the leaders and heirs of the ever-powerful Families.

Layla stood quite still, feet unmoving though the sound behind her proved that the others were escorted off the platform with the exception of Lord Fletcher, whose panicking voice caused much distress among the guests. Her heart beat in her head as her eyes searched the darkness for even a flicker of light.

An arm wound around her waist as the noise within turned from worrisome murmurs to blood curdling screams. Her hand shot up to pry the arm off as she was forcibly carried from the scene and further into the darkness. And she tried speaking, screaming, saying something suiting of the situation but the words lodged in her parched throat as her fingers coiled over the arm which held her tightly.

Shouts overlapped behind them, footsteps sounded loudly, and her frozen self was hoisted into a man's arms, hair billowing behind her with the winding direction they had taken.

When the agonizing cries seemed too distant to distinguish the rushing steps came to a sudden halt and she realized who it was. Her father's cologne filled her nostrils when in proximity and with that assurance she wrapped her arms around his neck before breathing a quiet sigh.

They continued down a long corridor before entering a musky-smelling room, along with a few others, she assumed with the quiet murmurs and footsteps.

The door behind them slammed shut and locked with a key. A thud sounded.

"Ow!"

"Everyone should be safe here."

"William?" called Layla, recognizing her butler's serious voice.

"Ah, yes, my lady."

"Oh, I'm glad you're fine," she whispered.

"Thank you, my l—"

"Where are those bloody matches?" boomed Barragan's voice, deep within the darkened room.

"Ah, King Barragan, allow me."

"Is that Ggio?" asked Starrk, coming from her right.

"I saw him sprinting ahead of us," said Lilynette smartly, in the same direction.

"Who is here?" Yamamoto finally asked.

"Let's hope that bastard Aizen stayed behind," grumbled Barragan as he continued rummaging through drawers.

"What a shame it is that I did not," answered Aizen.

"Where's Gin?" asked Yamamoto.

"Right 'ere!" chirped the child in question. "Ya run pretty fast."

"I suppose," answered Starrk.

A light finally filled the room and was used to light the candle the raven-haired bodyguard of the Luisenbarn was holding in his hands. It served to find a number of others in the fairly small room to pierce through the rest of the darkness. Not many were standing inside as she would have hoped, only those who mattered were standing there, she figured that was the only bit of importance to the clan leaders.

Her father put her down and she looked around the room to see the Barragan standing beside his guard and his youngest grandson, Ulquiorra. Will stood by the door. Yamamoto leaned against the nearest wall besides Jūshirō who held a grimacing Byakuya. To her right, she saw Starrk carrying young Gin with Lilynette at his side. She and her father stood at the center.

There were no chairs in the room, only short drawers that aligned every wall with tiny containers, and a table at the center with a short vase of primroses. Everyone's gazes traveled all around the room, there was no one present neither of them felt inclined to accuse of the acts that occurred that evening.

Layla grabbed a hold of her father in quick realization. "What about everyone else?"

"The guards were asked to escort them through the various trapdoors if need be," he answered. "There isn't any need for you to worry."

She remained silent. Even if she pressed for more information, she wouldn't be given the right answers. She would need to wait for them.

…

After Gin refused to get off Starrk, Ggio volunteered to see the aftermath and Will left to check the functionality of the lights.

There was nothing but eerie silence the moment the doors were opened. Their descending footsteps echoed through the corridor until they were finally too far to reach.

Barragan had talked about finding the perpetrator and wringing his neck for quite some time that Layla finally appreciated the peace they had. Yamamoto and Jūshirō talked amongst themselves. Ulquiorra had not said a word since their arrival to the room and merely leaned by the tall window, emerald eyes watching the darkened surroundings. Starrk had been coaxed into playing a card game with Gin, Byakuya and Lilynette joined in shortly after.

Layla had kicked off her heels and sat nestled in one of the corners, able to overlook the room's inhabitants while her father stood at her side. The only time Aizen had spoken was to further aggravate Barragan, as he purposely did as means of cheap entertainment.

The right side of the room was by far the liveliest and most interesting to watch.

"I win."

"How on earth can you win again? You just learned the game."

Gin offered a large smile in response as he reaped the benefits of his second win in a row.

"I don't get this stupid game!" complained Byakuya as he slammed the cards to the ground.

Lilynette grumbled beneath her breath. "Stop winning you brat!"

Starrk took the cards from everyone and began shuffling his deck. "Honestly, I'll be a poor bloke by the end of the night."

A small smile appeared on her face as she took yet another shuddering breath and leaned her head back to rest on the wall. She closed her eyes and waited for the minutes to pass.

She started seeing lighted candles blur as her head began to spin and arms felt too heavy to lift when they hit the ground hard. Taking another deep breath, she relaxed her body and slowly regained its control.

"Lilynette," called Starrk, handing the deck to his blond sister before standing. "I'll be back."

Barragan's eyebrows rose. "Where do you think you're going?"

Starrk had already opened the door and taken the first step out. "Neliel is still outside."

Ulquiorra crossed the room. "I'll accompany you."

Neither heard objections as they left the small room.

…

Voices.

Layla recognized a few as she came from light slumber to the heat of a hearth and a dark coat settled over her body. She stirred in her uncomfortable position, eyes opening to the embers in the fireplace before her slumbering form. She noticed both Yamamoto heirs lying on a fur rug sitting a few feet from the grate covered with a heavy blanket that Byakuya managed to wrap all round his body. Both breathed easy, Gin snoring quietly. Lilynette lied asleep closest to her, using the only pillow in the gargantuan room and a thick coverlet.

She could see Retsu sitting in a couch with her brother standing at her side, both speaking gently to avoid waking everyone resting. Every member of the three families was present with the exception of Starrk and his cousins. Neliel seemed to be sleeping in a lounging chair. She had a few scratches along her cheeks and dry blood staining the beautiful gown.

She quietly twisted all the way to see the three leaders sitting in the center of the room around a table with hot tea sitting before them as they continued their conversation.

"Can your grandsons be trusted with the extermination of these intruders?" asked Yamamoto incredulously.

Barragan grunted irritably. "Don't underestimate them."

Aizen merely chuckled. "I do wonder how well he can handle himself, your eldest that is."

Barragan huffed. "He isn't one you underestimate, Aizen. He could probably handle the job without help."

"Oh? What an interesting notion."

Hearing such things chilled her as she stretched out her tired muscles.

There weren't many guards present, so she automatically assumed they were out patrolling the rest of the manor in search of intruders.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and held onto her preoccupation. She worried about Starrk's well-being regardless of what his grandfather had said. Barragan boasted often and she felt oddly miserable thinking Starrk wouldn't lift a finger in any dire situation and envision various scenarios that put her into a worst mood. She couldn't sit particularly still long enough and the sound of her fidgeting drew attention from everyone residing in the room.

"Fidgeting, Layla," said Aizen sternly.

She stopped suddenly, the noise of her dress dying down immediately. "Forgive me."

Her cheeks were now tinged a rosy pink at the interest around the room and made sure she hadn't awaken anyone sleeping. She checked the nearest grandfather clock for the time. Half past midnight.

She ran her hands over her hair, pushing it back as she waited expectantly for the reassurance she needed to rest easy.

…

Reassurance didn't come until three in the morning as she had fallen asleep without noticing.

"Every room was inspected and all intruders were eradicated," surmised Soifon. "The other guards escorted the guests back to their bedrooms, the servants have all returned to their accommodations."

She awoke to the brush of a hand over hers and jolted, eyes snapping open as they found Starrk crouched down at his sister's side, inauspiciously reaching for her. She opened her mouth to speak, to voice the relief that washed over her that moment, but he held a finger to his lips as he hoisted his bundled up sister into his arms and she noticed the red stain on his collar.

"Y—"

"We'll meet tonight," he whispered as he passed by, interrupting her.

"Soifon, accompany Layla to her chambers. There are a few things I need to discuss with these gentlemen."

"Yes, sir."

Layla stood, her gaze following Starrk out the door and dully noting the decrease in people inside the drawing room, when Soifon approached her with a stern expression.

"You best not get any ideas."

She snapped out of it. "I wasn't staring."

"You were gawking."

Her face flushed. "I'm a young lady."

Soifon smirked in response and gestured for Layla to follow, which she did, begrudgingly and full of protests.

* * *

Layla walked around the room with a glass of red wine between her fingers, dressed in a white, lacey nightgown that slipped off her shoulders loosely. She slinked up her gown once more and guzzled down the rest of the sweet-tasting wine, no longer tasting the alcohol within it.

She stepped up to a round table, taking the bottle by the neck and pouring more liquid onto the clear glass when her bedroom door quietly opened. Lifting her brown orbs, her gaze met with Starrk's as he locked her bedroom door and stared amusedly at her disheveled display. She messily returned the bottle to its place and rushed to him, wrapping both arms around his neck as she buried her face in his chest.

"I was worried," she murmured.

He held her, noting the grip around him increasing. "Why?"

She suddenly jerked away. "Were you hurt?"

He shook his head quietly.

"But you had blood on you collar." She double-checked but he had already changed out of his clothes and into others, not a wound in sight.

"It wasn't mine."

Normally, she would question him further, but there was a lightness in her chest that prevented her from doing so. She was simply glad he hadn't suffered any injuries, but looked behind his shirt to make sure before breathing a sigh in relief.

He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles lightly. "I won't worry you, Layla."

She nodded.

She figured Barragan must not have been boasting back then. She had done wrong in doubting the man's capability without seeing it firsthand. She stepped closer into his arms and rested her forehead on his chest. He held her tightly, buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, taking in the soothing fragrance of her body. Her intoxicating scent settled within him, tempting him, but he stayed firm, only tightened his arms.

A surprised gasp escaped her parted lips and eyes fluttered open to stare over his broad shoulder, but she felt much safer in his arms. After everything that occurred that evening. New questions appeared in her mind and she knew Starrk would be the only one willing to answer them.

Layla felt his lips meet with hers before he fully drew away from her. She hadn't had a chance to close her eyes and enjoy the texture of his lips when he had already pulled away. The feel lingered in her lips and tingled through her body as he took her hands and led her to bed. She hardly cared for the wine bottle left on the table, or the half-full glass she abandoned messily. His hands settled over her scantily covered shoulders and pushed her onto a seat at the foot of her mattress.

"I'll stay until you're asleep."

She stared at him in wonder. "You have somewhere to go?"

"Yes."

She climbed further into bed and slipped underneath the coverlet, feeling the slightest bit lightheaded due to the five wine glasses she had prior to his arrival. She rested her head on the most comfortable pillow and watched as he took his seat at the side of his bed, leaning against the headboard as he did.

"What did occur this evening?" she asked quietly. "Why did it happen?"

"Your father had long ago speculated the possibility of having a rat amongst our beneficiary that seeks the end of the families," he whispered in response. "Surely you've heard mention of the Fourth Family?"

"I thought them to be rumor?"

He shook his head. "No, they are far from it, Layla. They are the reason for the deaths in London and the troubles we've encountered in business. The Families were forced to postpone this outing because of the danger our gathering presented. Our relatives chose this location because it was far from their reach." He reached to push back strands of hair shielding her visions. "We are not safe, and will not be until we eradicate them."

Her heart thumped ominously. "They won't be satisfied until our deaths, will they?"

"Yes."

She lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. "I am not fit for this role."

He leaned to kiss her forehead. "You were chosen for a reason; do not doubt your capabilities."

"I do hope you understand that I will refuse to lead my family," she whispered, lifting her eyes to him. "I have no intention of accommodating to my father's work…not unless…"

He arched an eyebrow. "Unless…?"

"Nothing," she whispered shutting her eyes tightly. "It is all but silly delusion of mine."

"I'm sure that is not the case."

"It is for my father," she answered lightly. "One cannot bring back the dead."

Starrk settled at her side and allowed her to rest her head on his lap, her small hand on his thigh as she kept her eyes closed. He ran his fingers through her hair, occasionally brushed his thumb against her cheek, and waited for her shoulders to relax.

"Forgive me for this morning," whispered Starrk.

Her cheeks flushed and she shifted onto her other side. "Oh, Starrk."

He smiled in response, draping the coverlet over her shoulder, but the bitterness in his gaze shown much brighter than the mask he wore that evening.

* * *

Starrk met with his cousins and grandfather a few minutes after the designated time. He slumped into his seat, earning few disgruntled insults directed his way, and lifted both legs over the arm for comfort. He waited for the conversation to continue.

"Where'd the fuck were you?" asked Grimmjow.

"That doesn't concern you."

"He was prolly meeting with that redhead. Weren't ya Starrk?" Nnoitra grinned from ear to ear.

"Is she any good?"

Starrk stared at the ceiling. "What's it matter? She isn't gonna last long."

"Enough," grumbled Barragan, drawing attention back to himself. "Where were you?"

"I received Ggio's report," he answered lazily. "The entire forest was scavenged. I ordered for the dead to be burned in the clearing during twilight when no one would take notice."

"What about the casualties?"

"Their bodies will be sent home with an explanation and some compensation."

"The wounded?"

Starrk shot both Grimmjow and Nnoitra fleeting gazes. Both had taken a number of wounds from the squabble in the hall and the gauze wrapped around their bodies which were spotted crimson, proved the severity of their injuries.

"The fuck are you looking at?" cursed Grimmjow.

"Nothing."

"Szayel took care of the injured guests," said Ulquiorra. "I took care of these barbarians."

"What'd you say?" Grimmjow bolted out of his seat with flare in his eyes and a clenched jaw.

"Talk all ya want, ya didn't do shit, bitch," dismissed Nnoitra.

"If I had, I would not be in the same position as either one of you."

Starrk hated attending his grandfather's pointless gatherings for that reason. Nnoitra and Grimmjow could spend hours talking and boasting and proving how much greater they were for his position, while Ulquiorra's occasional remarks bristled them. He could sit and listen to every bit of instruction, could wish there was peace in the room without their voices overlapping, and manage his job within his clan without complication. They were the problem.

He hated how dismissively Nnoitra mentioned Layla. How interested they seemed to know the finer details of his relationship with her and how idiotically they hoped to take his place.

He shut his eyes as his grandfather briefed them onto the second stage of their plans. Barragan, along with Aizen and Yamamoto determined the possibility of more attacks and because most of the guards were asked to stay outdoors to safeguard their surroundings, all of them were asked to ensure the safety of the guests.

"Aizen's Head Guard and a few others are in charge of the second floor, I expect you four to distribute your duties evenly and report back to Starrk with anything suspicious."

"That it ol' man?"

Barragan said nothing, merely gestured them out of the room as he stood from his arm chair.

Starrk lazily lingered when Grimmjow approached him. "I saw your mistress the other day. Did you bring her?" He got out of his seat moving past his cousin without a response, who laughed heartedly. "'Course you didn't, too busy with Layla Aizen to have a good fuck with a woman like that."

"Good night, Grimmjow," he said, slamming the door shut to drown out the sound of his laughter.

It followed him down the corridor.

He rubbed his head and stifled a yawn, continuing on his way down a different direction.

* * *

Neliel woke inside the warmth of her bed, to the scents of strong perfumes and hints of sweet wine, and the moss green walls of her chambers. A pat of her cheek and she could feel the tiny slits along them. It reminded her of the abysmal darkness of the ballroom. She attempted to calm the guests as best she could after the lights shut off but the sound of panicked screams rang in her ears and soon a series of dark presences surrounded the crowd. Many were pushed aside and she knew that instant that the clan leaders and heirs were in danger, but there were plenty escape routes set out for them long before the moment happened.

She often overheard Barragan speak of the possibility. Jūshirō dreaded the idea occasionally, saying his grandfather had been saying such things the moment Aizen mentioned it. Layla never actually said anything in accordance to the rumors plaguing their families. In fact, the quiet woman merely passed through the halls without company or with the Duchess of Cambridge to play the piano, as heavenly as she did. Aside from the rendezvous the auburn-haired woman took with Starrk, she knew nothing more than what he said of her.

Inwardly she hoped for everyone's safety, but figured everything would be fine considering the security hadn't been abused and the night passed without much consequence.

Rubbing her somnolent eyes, she pushed the gold-lined coverlet off her body and sat up. She searched the darkness until finding the light of morning slipping from underneath the drapes. The grandfather clock by her dresser read 4:45. It seemed too early for the servants to be mingling about the corridors.

Her throat was parched and aside from a few empty bottles of Chardonnay sitting at her bedside and the waterless jar atop her round table, she had no choice but to make a quick rush to the kitchens for something to drink. She left her bed, taking the nearest coat, a long black wool overcoat she had received as gift from her father before his passing, and draped it over her shoulders.

Neliel noiselessly emerged from her chambers and stepped onto the hall, leaving her door ajar for Christine—her maid—to know she was no longer inside. The ditzy woman usually panicked whenever she arrived to her chambers to an empty bedroom and searched the entire manor until finding her and they came to an agreement.

She padded down the secondary staircase and took the shortcut which swept through the servant's quarters and the larger, glamorous Yamamoto section that extended past the banquet hall and ballroom. She had explored the entire manor during their first week there, deciding to overlook all of the Aizen Family's dwelling before they arrived to avoid having to explain her curiosity, and was shown throughout the rest of the Yamamoto portion by Claire (whose name changed by day). She admitted to being a woman of the night, seemed darn proud of it, and was especially boastful of her chambers. She said she'd never been in a place that nice aside one she nearly blabbed about, but caught the words before they left her lips.

Neliel stopped walking at the sound of footsteps down the servant's quarters and a few muffled greetings as they prepared to start the day. She glanced over her shoulder hoping to catch someone in case she needed the kitchens to be unlocked, sometimes they were. She made plenty of trips throughout the night when she couldn't sleep.

The morning was abnormally peaceful. It seemed eerily tranquil almost. A bitter taste filled her mouth as she continued down the way, halting once more at the sound of a door opening and the dreamy voice of Claire emerging from behind it. Her large, hazel eyes darted fleetingly in that direction with an inkling of curiosity. She hoped to see a scandalous scene. A proper gentleman leaving the arms of the other woman, the sort of story you read in fictional romances, but the second her eyes locked on the man departing the chambers of the resident prostitute, her jaw dropped.

He stepped out rather sloppily, dress shirt undone to expose a good portion of his wide chest, with his jacket and waistcoat draped over his arm. He pushed the door shut with his foot and ran a gloved hand through his dark locks.

Every bit of anger inside her body flared as she noisily stomped into the corridor to greet him whenever he took notice. The last time she had ever felt so angry had been when she was thirteen years old, after Nnoitra had purposely gone into her playroom and destroyed every porcelain doll on her shelves because she had beaten him during fencing practice.

The frustration boiled and made her limbs trembled at the extremity of it.

He finally stopped walking, eyes lifting from the ground and shamelessly meeting with hers.

Neliel met him halfway and lifted her hand to deliver the strongest slap she could muster, hitting him square in the face.

"Ow,' he complained silently.

"How dare you make a mockery of that girl?" she asked strongly.

"Neliel—" he barely mustered before she interrupted him.

"You're just as despicable as those you abhor, Starrk," she spat, turning on her heel and rushing down the rest of the hall finding it redundant to waltz into the kitchen as she had seen nothing.

Her chest tightened as thoughts filled her mind and sympathetic tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

There existed no chivalry in the Luisenbarn clan. None.

That is why she hated it there, more than the fact that she never belonged.

* * *

**Thanks to**: rainy-lullaby, Sweet And Deadly (_ah, I write those out thoughtlessly to concede with the events of every chapter somehow, if not they are relevant to those that follow. :) And, the Scotland Yard is the police service in London._), cheesebubble, Dia de Luz, 3 (_thank you for voting!_), and Bara Ichimaru for reviewing the previous chapter.

**x L i l i m**:

Happy New Year!

And just like that the resident prostitute turned into the resident bitch, and the leading male turns into an asshole.

_Ahem_, sometimes I do wonder why I do the things I do that make me hate myself for doing them, but then it makes the story that much sweeter that I start cackling with excitement to see what sort of reactions people will have because I did such awful things. Yeah, it's a weird, _wishy-washy _sort of feeling that is just gnawing at my insides at the moment. In fact, I'm seriously berating myself for making it happen. I was even willing to change it last minute, but decided against it. Why? It will help with the development of Layla. And there are various reasons why it happened, which will be explained little by little throughout the _Myriad of Lies _chapters.

Gah! Don't hate me guys!

*cries*

(As for, why Nell? I thought it has a bigger impact.)

Also, about the voting thing. I decided to make reviews count as votes as well (toward the story that receives them). Why? I want to use my free time to tally some big numbers so, adding that into the mix just makes it a tad more interesting-for me at least. So yeah. Totally me being a loser. Honestly. I am going to enjoy my Winter Break counting numbers though I'm horrible at it. Haha.

Thank you for reading. *goes to corner and cries.*


	26. Myriad of Lies 3

**Masquerade**

Chapter 26

-_**Myriad of Lies 3**_-

_Pieces_

_There exist plenty of pieces on the ground—_

_Shards of glass,_

_Pieces of discarded fabric,_

_Wood from a shattered instrument,_

_Strings of which are, now, covered in blood,_

_A piano that no longer plays_

_Delight that never ceases to astonish_

_A world that cannot be enjoyed_

_What does one call this?_

_The Eve of Destruction, perhaps,_

_Or Damnation?_

The panic died down quickly, but her duke was set on removing them from Vinnlake Hall as soon as possible on the pretext of work which he had no possession of. He left all businesses settled and accounted for with his secretary and steward. The only plausible reason for their departure would be if any of their later appointments were pushed forward and they had no choice but to leave. She assumed the fright he experienced during the blackout made him reconsider prolonging their stay until the guests were dated to leave, though it seemed natural for plenty to be removed. She thought it would be. She would be lying had she not expected her husband to say something in accordance to the events.

Rovina Stephenson had been sitting before her dresser inside her boudoir, removing the glittering decorations she put in her hair for the evening, and prepared for sleep. Her husband, the Duke of Cambridge, or more intimately known, Elliot Stephenson, was already tucked away beneath the coverlet they were forced to share. She could scarcely see the reflection of his position upon the bed; the rest was obscured by the door's threshold.

He shifted, rustling the blankets and draped an arm over his face. "I have asked for our luggage to be prepared."

She blinked, a stream of red hair falling over her face as she pulled apart the pin holding it together. "Are we departing?"

"Yes, tomorrow evening. I will not reconsider."

There existed various reasons for her reluctance, but none that she could not hide from her indifferent husband. She simply finished undoing her stylish hair and retied its shallow columns with a ribbon behind her head. Her nightgown brushed against her calves as she ventured into their shared accommodations to the bitterness that separated them upon their marriage bed and slipped beneath the covers, her mind a blur of the events which preceded them.

Elliot simply lifted his body and blew out the candles at his nightstand, submerging them into darkness.

At their home they occupied different rooms and he never bothered to pay a visit to do what was expected of him. She had not experienced the delight of pregnancy, which she foolhardily expected the second she walked down the aisle in her father's arm as she felt it was her duty as the wife of a duke. She grew up acknowledging that ideal as she understood she would be asked to marry Elliot Stephenson. He had been the only heir of the duchy of Cambridge, and although they had hoped he was at least more competent, he wasn't. He was a bit of a laze, never taking his work seriously, but he was the only male in a family of predominantly females. And most of his sisters had been married off and had plenty of children. The eldest had just bore her fifth, a healthy boy, and they youngest already had two, both young boys.

Elliot's refusal of her love ruined her standing with her mother-in-law who asked if she was healthy. She was. The old nut had forced her to see various doctors to make sure she could bear children. She could. But when voicing the strain of her marriage, the woman merely sneered and held her accountable for being unable to entice her son in the bedroom. It always lowered her self-esteem, whether she thought it idiotic or pitiable.

Along the night, Rovina grew restless. She twisted and turned until she let out a frustrated sigh.

"If you wish to relent, leave, Rovina," Elliot whispered harshly as he shifted over the mattress.

She draped an arm over her face, ignoring his comment, and inwardly wished that for a moment he disregarded every complaint he had of her so that both could sleep contently. Or maybe he could wrap an arm around her waist snuggly to please her for once in their eight year marriage.

_To the devil with such foolish notions!_ Rovina pushed her body free of the heavy coverlet and slipped into a pair of slippers at her bedside. She took the nearest coat thrown askew and departed with an echoing slam of the door not for his sake but for her own. Truth be told, she knew no happiness in her wreckage of a marriage and as sweetly a perspective as she had taken, she was not content with only being her husband's legal wife—even more so belittling than that, she assumed since he neither did his duty of begetting an heir as expected of him.

She sought peace as thought it were an antidote and listlessly wandered the corridors of the grandeur that was Vinnlake Hall with her arms wrapped firmly about her coated chest.

Hushed voices became louder with every twist and turn of the corridor until her eyes saw the heavily guarded interior of the property. Nothing but proper greetings were exchanged as she crossed the foyer into the drawing room to notice she was not the only noble up in the early hours.

Jūshirō Ukitake quickly took note of her presence, the quiet sound of her slippers on the marble ground alerted him and he turned in her direction, a light smile quirked his lips upward.

"Are you having trouble sleeping, your grace?"

Her skin prickled at his address, thought it was very common for anyone to call her as such except those on her same level of hierarchy. As far as she was concerned, the families were exempt in doing so. They only paid their deepest respects to the royal family, although they had more control over the Queen's actions than she did herself.

"Rovina or duchess will suffice, my lord."

He chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry, force of habit."

Rovina took a tentative step forward and gestured to the seat beside him. "May I?"

He slid down the couch to make room for her and watched her curiously as she took a seat. Her knees pressed together, hands holding the lapels of her coat shut, and her eyes crinkled as they stared into the burning hearth. She seemed tense, her expression forlorn with the subtlety of a mask, and her usually extravagant hair held no beauty. She was pale beneath the dim light of the fire, quivering with uncertainty inside the warmth of her coat, but even with so many elements working against her…she had never looked so regal yet so pure.

"Quite a commotion it was," said Rovina lightly, "this evening, I mean."

His expression turned serious, dark eyebrows furrowed slightly as his brown orbs reflected the fire before them. "We underestimated the threat that caused unprecedented casualties."

Rovina lowered her gaze, feeling silly after blatantly disregarding the occurrences of that day for her poor excuse of a marriage, and gave a curt nod. "Yes, it has been catastrophic, enough to encourage my duke to cut our trip short."

"Ah, has he?" he questioned with a hint of wonder.

"He's a bit dramatic, you see—a coward would be more appropriate."

"I believe he's made an appropriate decision," he said, "in fact, I hope that others would do well in following that example because of the threat our families attract. There is no telling what troubles will arise from this announcement and there has been no confirmation of who we are dealing with…only that they have every intention of destroying the world our grandfathers created."

"I understand the circumstances and it is more of a reason for me to follow my husband's lead, as it is expected of me, but I have a necessity to meddle into these affairs without fear."

How out of place she must be? How silly she must look. How awfully imposing a woman she must seem to this man. It embarrassed her far worse than anything ever had, but her conviction was far too important to disregard for the sake of image.

He gazed at her kindly, the smile returning to his face, and as though he could read her like a book, he exposed her. "Miss Layla is your obligation, is she not?"

"Am I so obvious, my lord?" she asked daintily.

"You dote on her more than you do anyone else."

Rovina smiled bitterly. "I am eternally grateful to her for being a wonderful friend that I fear her inheritance of the Aizen clan would forever tarnish her innocence." Her chest clenched. "I understand there plenty people around her willing to support and aid her, but I cannot so graciously depart without _knowing_ this reality will not butcher her into perdition." Her face flushed shortly after realizing to whom she spoke to with such low standards on the foundation of the families and proffered an apology. "Now, I am not being negligent and forgetting what the families have provided us with. I don't mean to see unappreciative because I am, truly and deeply, but—"

"Don't apologize, duchess," Jūshirō said peacefully. "I fully comprehend your admonishment towards our _work_. I don't agree with half of the things I grew up around, so I can understand your worries." He leaned into his seat and placed both hands on his knees with a deep breath. "As for Miss Layla, due to her current circumstances you can make sure her father will keep her out of harm's way and the viscount seems reliable enough to support her for the time being."

He smiled rather playfully when mentioning Starrk.

"Oh. I do suppose you're right."

She felt stricken with necessary relief after hearing the confidence in Jūshirō's tone and indulged in light conversation until the night sky was dyed a pale violet and the guards had switched out for the third time.

She stood first, feeling capable of sleeping after their exchange. "I should be returning to my chambers."

"Goodnight, duchess."

"Thank you for keeping me company, sir."

She rounded the couch and stepped out the door when she heard him scramble to his feet to meet her by the doorway.

Rovina turned to face him, confused.

"It is very relieving to see you are well, duchess."

Her eyes widened at the sincerity in his voice—the relief—that as she opened her mouth to sound out words in need of speaking, she came out a jumbled mess. "Y-yes? T-thank you, I appreciate it greatly."

* * *

Layla stood idly before the open window of her bedchamber staring absently at the cape of melting frost atop the cape of trees and the smoke emerging deep within the sylvan with curiosity. Slumbering birds had fluttered out from their nests and filled the sunlit sky. The guards, dressed in uniformed black filled the courtyard, eyes seemingly fixed onto various areas surrounding Vinnlake Hall and during intervals her gaze would wander to the Luisenbarn cousins wandering about outdoors. The new arrival, the man with wild hair, had ordered around a few guards on standpoint before storming past the clutter of trees where she assumed would lead him to the source of the billowing gray smoke tinged with red that paled the blue expanse overhead.

Her bedroom door opened quietly, the sound of Will's dreary voice chased away fleeting thoughts and drew her attention to her surroundings. She blinked, shook her head, and quietly shut the window to allow the drapes to fall over them.

"I did not expect to find you awake so early, milady," her butler commented as he strode past her sauntering figure to shine some morning light in her bedroom.

She took a seat at the foot of her bed, atop the cushioned bench and smoothed out the wrinkles of her nightgown. "What do you expect is happening outside?"

"In all honesty, I am not aware, but I do understand the Luisenbarn Court is in charge of relieving many guests of the terrible mess last night."

"You mean the cousins?"

"Along with your beau," he added coltishly, "of course."

Her face flushed. "William, you devil!"

He merely laughed, amused by the absurd coloring of her cheeks.

Will tidied the room as her normally did, laid out a white aesthetic dress for her to wear on her suggestion, and asked what she preferred for breakfast, which she would take apart from the rest of her family. She agreed on whatever choice Will thought more nutritious and he had been on his way to the door when he stopped.

"Are you not exceedingly frightened, milady, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Of?"

He cleared his throat turning his gaze from her. "Your forbidden trysts with Viscount L'Isle, I mean."

Although the truth stung as badly as it did, a diminutive smile curled her lips. "Terrified with each passing day, William," she admitted. "We are in a house full of watchful eyes that could easily begin to suspect, and the consequences—well." She paused, her grin turning sheepish. "He's asked me not to think of consequences. So I shall not."

Will hung his head in contemplation as she avidly watched him, wondering what brought upon such an inquiry but not asking herself.

"An opinion, if I may?"

"You may have as many as you wish without permission," she answered with a nod.

"I do not consider it wrong to feel, though I may be too young to truly acknowledge such words, but I do think considering the severity of one's consequences should be done as a precaution."

He spoke with enough conviction to lift her spirits even if it was a word of caution.

"No matter how severe?" she questioned.

"No matter," he answered firmly.

She nodded curtly. "I will consider the consequences though I do not look forward to them."

A smile appeared on his face, one of understanding and a maturity that truly was beyond his seventeen years.

"Now, Will, after you bring my breakfast and I am dressed and studying my books and practicing my piano, I hope you will return to your chambers and rest." He had dark circles underneath his eyes she noted were ineffectively concealed that proved he had been hard at work the entire night.

"There is much work to be done, I cannot allow it."

"You must."

"I am the steward's right hand, therefore, I must tend to my duties ex—" Incidentally he allowed a repressed yawn to escape and with a flustered face attempted to hide it behind his gloved hand. "—_exhausted or not_."

He seemed unconvinced and so she resorted to a few final options. "Then you must remain by my side the entire day. That, William, is not a request but an _order_."

"Must it?"

"Yes."

* * *

Neliel sat through breakfast sleep deprived with her eyes glued to her silverware rather than facing Starrk, the newest traitor in the Luisenbarn clan, and she noticed she had yet to shake the anger free as the early hours of the morning tolled by. The morning itself had been plenty hectic considering all her cousins, including her half-brother, were ridding everyone's burden by doing what they were best at doing.

Ulquiorra made sure to place the deceased guests in makeshift coffins made by the lumberjack and gardener the night before after the lengthy embalmment process. He was at least well aware of various other fields of medicine than one would expect, most of which continued expanding.

Grimmjow had been quite watchful of the Aizen guards in charge of making the fire past the sylvan, far from everyone's eye, but was also asked to searched the perimeter in case of intruders—not that he paid heed to any of Starrk's orders.

Nnoitra was on patrol but he took the opportunity to pick a fight with a man who stared at him oddly, disrupting the finally peaceful setting.

Starrk lingered from place to place seemingly guiltless and only fueling her resentment towards him. He spent most of his time indoors, occasionally heading upstairs to check on Lilynette, who had woken up with a cold. She ran into him during her patrol of the upper floor and as his gaze steadily met her face she turned away to make it seem as though she hadn't seen him. It looked obvious, she knew it, but even so, she made no strenuous effort to hide it.

Neliel sighed deeply, got out of her seat, and excused herself from the breakfast room.

She figured she had begun involving her personal experiences in that matter. Infidelities clung to her like a plague and she had either been around them or seen them first hand. She caught her father being unfaithful to her mother with Ulquiorra's once upon a time, but never dared confront him or tell her sickly mother. Before her betrothal to Starrk, she had been engaged to an enchanting baron that days before their wedding she had caught him with the housekeeper. Of course, her engagement to Starrk would be for legal issues only to finalize her membership into the clan, not at all a real marriage as she wasn't too fond of the notion any longer. So she had long been aware of the existence of a mistress when it pertained to Starrk and she hardly cared. He did as he wished regardless of approval.

She overheard Grimmjow and Nnoitra speaking of the woman hours prior to the incident. She questioned and demanded an answer that neither one was willing to give until after she managed to get it out of Nnoitra.

Robin Talbot was her name. She had been going by something else, though.

"How do you even know of her?" she had asked.

"I just fucking do, Nell," he spat.

"It aint the best kept secret in London, y'know," Grimmjow went on. "Talbot's been around since we first came here."

"How can I not know if it's been going on for two years? I was engaged with him."

Nnoitra had laughed mockingly even as she glared at him. "Why should he tell you? Your fucking marriage was a scam."

"You'd prolly only bitch an' whine about it," said Grimmjow, leaving with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

She had been around for two years and she was in this mansion by pure coincidence or premeditation.

She stood at the center once more, similarly as she had vaguely similar situations. Layla had become her most recent acquaintance and there was no doubt she had grown fond of the woman. A gnawing ache at her chest urged her to say something—to hint at it—but reason refused to speak.

A melodic sound came pouring into the corridor she turned into it and echoed beautifully with the rooms acoustics. She followed the music closely, interest piqued and preoccupations erased, and stood at the threshold of the piano room looking inside with a curious eye.

Her heart shot up to her throat as she noticed Layla sitting at the bench, fingers elegantly tapping the keys. She took a step back when the auburn-haired woman took note of her presence and smiled sheepishly without once stopping.

Until finally, her musical score came to a peaceful end and she took a deep breath. "I must be extremely noisy, am I not?"

"Not at all," she piped in. "I'd rather hear music than the yelling that goes on throughout breakfast."

Layla eyes were facing the keys in keen fascinations as she laughed lightly. "Such a lively family you have," she commented. "Starrk is no admirer either, I've heard."

The sound of his name made her recall the instant she saw him in the hallway leaving that whore's bedroom. Oh she could not, for the life of her, contain the insults—even if she had befriended Claire without a care. It was the fact that Claire spent such time admiring the fantasy story (to her) that could have been Layla and Starrk. _What a lovely couple they make. How beautiful Lady Layla is, quite befitting of a man like the viscount, do you not agree? I do hope something does occur or I will be losing my bet to Lord Fletcher, we have quite a bulk of money on stake and he believes our lady is too proper to love her enemy._

That hypocrite!

"No, he is not," answered Neliel with a pleasant smile. "Did you come to practice?"

"Yes, while William prepared my breakfast." Layla stood smoothing out the white artistic gown that fell loosely over her figure. "I should probably be heading back; else he may get a bit worried."

Neliel blinked. "Oh, you don't take breakfast with your family?"

She shook her head. "Their food takes a bit longer than mine to prepare so I take my breakfast in my bedroom." She walked past her and stopped, turning to face her once more. "The duchess has suggested we all meet for a walk about the gardens. I do hope you will be in attendance."

"Of course I will."

As Layla slipped further away from her, the desire to spill lessened progressively. Her stomach churned and her eyes dimmed in the slightest.

Just as the woman had slipped into the next corridor, she bumped shoulders with Starrk, who may have done it purposely.

"How dare you?" she cried, pushing past him.

He followed. "It was not my intention to do you harm, milady."

She caught the hint of their tryst.

The ache returned shortly after they slipped further from her sight. At times like those…she wished she knew what to do.

* * *

"William has been giving me odd looks all morning," commented Starrk while sprawled over her bed.

"He is an observant youth, take no offense." Layla was lying at his side, upside down wrapped in a violet shawl after finishing her breakfast, in quite unladylike fashion that would normally get her scowled at by any proper woman.

"You trust he won't say anything?"

She smiled in remembrance of her conversation with the young man that morning. "He teased me all morning! I do think he's amusing himself greatly."

"Hmm."

"Do you have a problem with William?" she asked after a brief silence.

"Is he trustworthy?"

"Of course he is trustworthy. He could have told the entire congregation from the shock last night had it not been for my order."

"True."

Layla fiddled with the violet ribbons of her dress as they were engulfed in silence until she broke through it with a lengthy sigh that moved him to shoot a concerned glance in her direction.

"Is something bothering you?"

"I have been missing Vinny," she admitted sullenly. "He would have helped tremendously in these wintry evenings."

"Do I not serve my purpose, milady?"

She scoffed humorlessly and lifted her body to a seat. "Not as religiously as I would have hoped. You do not," she answered with amusement in her eyes.

She expected an equally playful chide or some sort of joking agreement, but he averted his gaze from her and fixed it upon the canopy overhead stilled in quietness.

The amusement faded into a frown. "I do hope yesterday's evening have not put a strain in your sense of humor, viscount. I'd be gravely disappointed were that the case."

Starrk looked to her once more, lips curved into a rueful smile. "I hope not to disappoint you."

She blinked apart the confusion within the next set of seconds, overanalyzing every bit of detail spoken and seen by her very own eyes, to confirm—though she immediately dismissed the notion—that his response was every bit serious. He meant every word and his expression spoke a truth she avoided without a second glance.

She was happy. As incandescently, irrevocably happy as she ever hoped in the presence of a man she had grown fond of beyond tangible words.

There existed no need to disgrace such happiness.

Layla smiled as genuinely as she could and reached to take his hand from besides him and placed it atop her lap. Dropping her gaze to his much larger hand she sank deep into the emotions which fluttered in her stomach and cleared her mind of unnecessary thoughts and twined her fingers with his.

Starrk lifted himself after a short silence and drew her closer to the warmth of his body. She felt his lips atop her head and then his cheek as he rested his chin on her shoulder, hand dropping to her shoulder where it coiled.

Her heart pulsed in her head and her eyes lingered on their joined hands though he slipped from her hold. He kissed her temple but made no attempt to wish their lips to meet until she placed both hands on his face and held him close enough to feel his breath upon her lips.

He did then.

Tenderly and full of affection.

She smiled against his lips and pulled away. "I do think I have studying that must be done today."

"More studying?" he asked, yawning mid-sentence.

"I take it you'll return to your chambers to sleep?"

He touched her face lightly. "Yes. So enjoy your boring books."

His kissed her once more before slipping off the bed and took his leave.

Layla sat in the center of her bed, fingers twitching anxiously.

It was the first time she felt this feeling—the indescribable one. It made her stomach churn until it hurt.

* * *

**Thanks to**: rainy-lullaby, Dia de Luz, Sweet And Deadly (I don't remember if I ever gave you an answer to your question-sorry if I didn't-but yes, you read it right. He did.), and cheesebubble for reviewing the previous chapter.

This was supposed to be longer. Long enough to include *checks outline* the walk Layla spoke of to Nell where girl talk would go on or something of the like. I'm not good at girl talk so it'll probably be nonsense! Amusing nonsense, but nonsense nonetheless. And would have Claire. But I'm still mad at her so...I didn't include her...out of sheer frustration. See? I'm unfair with my characters too! Next chapter will probably long because it'll contain a little Roxanne/Shinji/Investigation, Character Back-Story (I'm not telling who), the walk (yeah, obviously), Resentment, Douglas Gray (self-explanatory), Layla/Starrk, Rovina/Elliot/Ukitake, and more Nell/Luisenbarn.

Sounds like a lot. Wow. I might split that. The Myriad of Lies chapters were only supposed to go up to...seven, I think. I am disgusted with myself...not being to fit so much in so little - oh well...more chapters.

Did I mention Masquerade is winning the poll? Well it is. :) A chapter a day for a week seems magical, huh?

P.S. I finished the outline for this story. I'm sure the dramatic events following the angst in MoL is gonna be shocking. And the ending! THE ENDING. I wanna see everyone's faces for the ending! I'm about half-way through...so to speak. You never know. I'm not very compact in terms of fitting stuff.

Well, yeah, thank you for reading!


	27. Myriad of Lies 4

**Masquerade**

Chapter 27

-_**Myriad of Lies 4**_-

_One can be perceptive of lie,_

_But can never be certain of truth_

There was but a droplet of red wine left in the glass held between her fingers, few standing bottles of chilled merlot sat on the ground by her bed. The empty bottles rolled along the rug after she knocked them over while speeding to get dressed for the afternoon stroll Rovina planned. While waiting Layla decided to prop open her books and continue her lessons after having a run in with her brother out in the hall. Szayel was not the least bit pleased about their father's decision and he expressed it through snide comments and open neglect. He made a fool of her, asking her inquiries of the function of their family, which she answered incorrectly.

She understood the business side of her clan, not the ghastly side. Szayel wanted to torture her. The notion was akin to their first meeting as children after her father ruined everyone's lives as easy as one-two-three, but the past was over. She busily dwelled in the present and future since the day of her sudden inheritance. She had yet to stomach the idea. But when she struggled she remembered the wandering gypsy telling fortunes that assured her that she would meet her mother and clarity shone through endless darkness. Her father obviously knew of Jaelle being alive. What he might not have been aware of was her location.

Regardless, her mother was alive. Even if a gypsy had told her so and she knew that only few were born with such a gift. She understood that it could be a fraud and that she could be gravely disappointed for letting her lifelong dream—seemingly impossible fantasy—govern her life. But in her current position, buried neck deep in responsibility, future plans, and a forbidden tryst, she needed the slightest bit of happiness. Anything would do so long as it allowed her to look onward to the next day and never falter.

She had Starrk. She needed no one else.

At the sound of incoherent babble, Layla lifted her gaze to meet with the curled form of her slumbering butler at the foot of the mattress. Will had an open book against his chest, having been ordered to read it until it bored him into slumber. He refused to rest after having spent an entire day awake working nonstop and he was a stubborn young man. So she felt forcing him to read the world's most boring history book would do the trick. Occasionally he murmured half-hearted requests and called out the names of other servants she was familiar with.

With a shake of her head she redirected her attention to the opened book on her lap and continued where she last left off but not before taking the final drop of wine from her glass.

* * *

"_Knock knock_," called Rovina's muffled voice behind the door.

Layla shut her book, dropped it on the nearest table, and opened the doors wide for Rovina and Neliel to enter. She walked back to her bed, stacked all her books on her nightstand and pulled the coverlet over Will's body.

Rovina appeared behind her with a large smirk on her face as she tucked the blanket underneath the boy. "Well, I never expected to find a boy in your bed, have you grown tired of the viscount?"

"That's scandalous," Layla quickly dismissed. "It's William."

"Oh?" Rovina peered over her shoulder to the sleeping youth and reached to touch his face with the pad of her thumb. "He's got lovely skin this one, he does. Makes any woman envious."

William reacted to the feel of the woman's nail grazing against his cheek and buried his face further into the pillow. Layla gave Rovina an exasperated look before shooting a peaceful smile at Neliel, who looked distraught as she stared out the window.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Neliel jolted, turned, and smiled sheepishly. Her hand went into her messy locks while regarding the duchess and Layla. "No, I'm fine."

"We should get going," Rovina suggested.

Layla bolted into her boudoir. "Let me find shoes."

She rummaged through the dresses draped over a long couch in the center and bent down to the ground in search of shoes and went on to look past the clutter of mess.

The door clicked open and the women exchanged words with the new visitor.

"_Yes, she's in her boudoir_."

Layla put a pale dress back into its drawer and heard steps behind her. She shot one glance towards the door and beckoned Claire for assistance. "Where have you been keeping my shoes?"

"Oh." The redhead waltz up to a closet space and opened it to reveal racks of her shoes. She smiled gleefully. "Mistreat your dresses all you wish, but shoes are of the utmost importance. Especially when dressing in the latest of fashions."

Layla gave the woman's wardrobe a once over and pulled a pair of matching shoes to go with the red outfit she wore. Claire was dressed extravagantly gaudy in a golden gown with pricey jewelry draped around her neck and clanking over her wrists and had the perfect shoes to complete her flamboyance.

"Italian import," called Layla.

Claire placed both hands on her hips and did a twirl while kicking her foot up. "Of course, you know your shoes."

She laughed and slipped into her red heels. "All I wear are imports."

"French perfumes are certainly the best."

"Of course." Layla pushed back messy strands of hair behind her ears in front of her mirror and watched the redhead finger her glass perfume bottles. "You can have some if you'd like. You must be dressed to meet someone, I'm sure."

"You certainly are perceptive, Miss Layla," she chimed.

"Then," answered Layla as she used her finger to apply some color to her lips and standing straightly. "I won't ask you to accompany us on our walk."

Claire picked a bottle of perfume and sprayed a bit upon her gown and smiled. "I will certainly attend next time."

Layla stepped out of her boudoir with Claire following one step behind and noticed Neliel looking more distraught than she had a minute ago. Rovina had been rubbing circles over her back when they appeared before them.

"You really aren't feeling well, are you?"

Neliel once more smiled, guiltily this time. "I don't want to ruin our outing, especially when it's the duchess last in Vinnlake Hall."

"Are you truly leaving, your grace?" asked Claire, whisking her hair over her shoulder.

Rovina gave a curt nod. "Yes, it is a shame, but I am to play the good wife as business calls my duke to London."

"A shame, indeed," commented Claire before turning to Neliel with a sweetened smile. "Would you like me to escort you to your bedroom, Miss Neliel?"

"I do think it would be best for you to rest," agreed Layla.

Neliel blinked toward the duchess who patted her back encouragingly.

"I will make it my duty to dote on you for the rest of the afternoon before my departure; you have been very kind to me, Nel."

Neliel nodded curtly in response and excused herself with Claire following at a short distance.

Rovina took a deep breath and turned to Layla. "Shall we?"

"Of course."

* * *

They were out of earshot when Neliel regarded Claire bitterly.

"Robin Talbot."

"Alice, today," answered the freckled redhead playfully.

"Then you won't deny you're my cousin's mistress." Her large hazel eyes narrowed as they stared at the woman's back, a wave of anger was building at the pit of her stomach.

"Cousin?" asked Claire looking over her shoulder with an evocative smile. "Which?"

Neliel enjoyed being regarded as the peacemaker of the Luisenbarn as every other member was in their own way barbaric, but there were times when she simply wanted to run her rapier through someone. Bottled anger, disgust—the mere idea that this innocent woman was being made a fool of by these degenerates—and the fact that she could do nothing to dispel the awful emotions had her feeling ugly, rotten from the inside out.

Claire—_no, _Robin Talbot—was making a fool of her.

She took a deep, relaxing breath. "I am not in the mood for games, Robin."

In turn the redhead chortled in amusement. "Forgive me, but I can't discuss that sort of thing. Besides, I came to this trip as no man's mistress."

"You came as a prostitute."

"Heaven's no," she cried chillingly with a gesture of her hand. "I came as entertainment; you see Lord Kyoraku would simply die under these circumstances and I so happened to be free at the time."

Neliel frowned and the whore noticed. Her eyes widened in slight astonishment as they turned the corner.

"You do not like me, do you Lady Neliel?"

It was definitely hard to not like someone, but she could not hide her resentment towards her. Maybe it was because she grew up around the consequences infidelities bring into a home, though it is commonplace for any male to have a mistress. Women chose silence when in such situations that it merely encouraged their husbands to linger with these other women. But she hated that sort of simple-minded way of thinking. Because her mother grew ill, her father neglected her to find a mistress to fulfill his needs, and she grew worse and worse. With each argument spewed, with every shattered glass, and every tear she shed, her mother died miserably and her father went onto marry his mistress.

The ideal was born within her and she could only hope, if she were to marry, that the man she shared eternity with was not a simple-minded fool.

She thought Layla would hate to know what these dark walls held in secrecy. It proved harder to speak when the woman smiled so happily knowing Starrk was supporting her in the shadows.

And then, she would think about Starrk. When he severed their engagement, she accepted his decision with a joyful smile because in return she wanted him to tell her all about the woman that proffered such a response. He told her of Layla Aizen bit by bit, whenever she pressured him enough, and it was obvious how in love he seemed.

_Had he lied?_

"I did," Neliel answered crisply. "_Once._"

Robin feigned innocence. "What did I do wrong? I could surely fix it if you would tell me."

"Starrk," said Neliel, halting midway through the curving hall.

Robin turned with the same smirk on her face. "What of him?"

"You know of his relationship with Layla, do you not?"

"Of course, how obvious can they get, right?" She held a hand by her lips as she whispered that and the anger bubbled. "I thought we've already spoken of this, with the Duchess of Cambridge, did we not?"

"Yes, and you proved to be an avid admirer."

"Well, they complement each other so well."

Neliel swallowed the lump in her throat. "If he appeared at your doorway, why did you not turn him away?"

Robin blinked, her face shadowed by a new emotion as the smile disappeared from her lips. "Is that what this concerns? The reason as to why you do not like me?"

She ignored her question and continued, "He loves her and plans to marry her—"

"_And they would live happily ever after_," interjected Robin mockingly. Her tone turned dark as she went on, "He's a dreamer, obviously, you know, we know, everyone knows, but it isn't as simple as giving her a ring and having her agree to a proposal. He is a Luisenbarn and she an Aizen. To make matters worse, they are to lead their families in the future. Do you think either one could make a difference in what fate has already laid out for them? The relationship begun knowing of it imminent failure. So he can love her as much as he does and beyond it and she could very much reciprocate the affections but in the long run, when everything goes wrong, he will be left with a broken heart."

It infuriated her. "Do you not think Layla capable of loving him unconditionally?"

"Call it a rebellious phase," answered Robin spitefully. "If you know anything about Layla Aizen, which I surely hope you do, you would understand that she is a sheltered girl. Women that are sheltered opt to rebel and they seek the most troublesome sort of way to do so—marry a rake, sleep with a man before marriage, any sort of scandal actually. The viscount would be the obvious choice, handsome man, grandson of an enemy clan. Too perfect an opportunity to dismiss, she may have thought, and now she lives the life she always wanted. Sneaking around into each other's rooms in the middle of the night, exchanging signals, and speaking in code. It is absolutely perfect."

_Wrong._

"And when this idiotic phase is over, she will leave him to marry a distinguished noble and never think of him again. If you honestly think—"

"Enough," Neliel said softly.

"—this is fated and that it would be the world's most perfect relationship or that they will suddenly very magically bypass all their troubles and consequences like a breeze—"

"I said enough."

"—how wrong you are!" barked out Robin. "Their liaison is meant to d—"

Neliel's palm collided hard with Robin's cheek and she knew she would have done much worse than leave a red print on the woman's face.

"Enough," she stated with finality. "He belongs to her and you will not make a fool of her."

Robin held her stinging cheek as the taller woman bumped shoulders with her hard on the way to her room. Her lips trembled as she took a step toward Neliel. "He belonged to me first!"

* * *

"I will miss you dearly, Rovina."

"We won't be far for too long, though, and I will make sure to host a tea party upon your return," the duchess said as she placed a hand over Layla's. "I will invite the women of the families; it would do you well to get acquainted."

Layla and Rovina had settled on a stone bench in the large garden outside Vinnlake hall underneath the shade of an oak as the sun beamed heavily overhead. Summer seemed to finally be showing its face in this side of England.

"I agree."

Both fell silent as they stared to the swaying flowers in the midst. Most trees and flowers had lost their leaves or withered during the chilly season, but these flowers stood prominently among the empty patches.

"Will you be accepting?"

Layla understood what the duchess referred to. "Not if my father refuses to fulfill my condition," she answered. "I did start studying our businesses as a precaution, in case he does accept."

"Have you asked him to accept your relationship with the viscount?"

She smiled in return. "No, my father would never accept it."

"Then what sort of condition is it, if you don't mind my asking."

Rovina knew nothing of her origins. She never thought of revealing them to her because her past hardly mattered in the present and future. It was a simple memory. Nothing more.

The issue with her secrecy was not trust. She could trust Rovina with her life.

She contemplated her answer before speaking it.

"My mother."

To the duchess, Fallon had been her mother.

Rovina gave her hand a squeeze. "Oh, darling."

Layla inspected their surroundings. Clear. A few guards stood meters away.

"I have never spoken to anyone about this as few people know it, but please listen."

"Anything, dear."

"Fallon was not my mother and Sun-sun and I are not twins. That is the first thing you should know of me," she started, earning a surprised look from her companion. "My mother is another woman of little importance to our social circles, without a face in this world, and I was taken from her at a young age. Many things occurred afterward and up until recently she was presumably dead. Someone told me otherwise and I have faith it was no lie. I asked my father to allow me to meet her as a condition to accepting his title."

There was no need to go into further details as it took Rovina a while to digest this knowledge.

"And you are certain she is living?"

Layla nodded curtly.

"Are you willing to accept such responsibility for a simple meeting?"

She lifted her gaze to the clearing sky, dark clouds drifting apart and remembered that stormy evening as her mother clung to her petite form and her father pointed his pistol at her head. "I would give my life to see her, Rovina. For a minute, even a second, any amount of time would suffice so long as she says she loves me, I do not care how long I live."

They were drenched to the bone that stormy afternoon, her hair stuck to her skin, and her eyes could never see past the haze of the curtain of rain. They were wide and fear-stricken as she bore witness of Vandlo's death, the man who proved to be more of a father than Sōsuke Aizen. Vandlo's blood trickled down her face, soaked in her clothes until the rain washed them away but she always felt that they were still there.

To that day…like an imprint.

Touching her face she could imagine them etched onto her skin and her eyes saddened.

"What did he say to your condition?"

"He dismissed it."

Again, they lapsed into silence when Rovina draped her arms around her suddenly and held her so close she could feel the beating of her heart against her shoulder.

"If you would go so far for your mother, you must not give up so easily. She would surely tell you she loves you."

Layla sniffed, but she was not tearful.

She had conviction.

* * *

Later that afternoon the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge bid farewell to the occupants of the manor and were seen out by intimate acquaintances including herself, Neliel (who came on behalf of herself and Lilynette, who was too sick to function), Jūshirō Ukitake and Shunsui Kyoraku. After Rovina went around distributing hugs and exchanging words as her pompous husband smiled from his seat inside the carriage she stopped before Jūshirō and Shunsui. She laughed to something Shunsui had said and Jūshirō took her hand and placed a kiss upon it.

Layla watched as her cheeks turned a light rosy and how she fumbled into the carriage with her husband. Rovina waved from the open window as the horses started moving forward onto the only path leading out of the sylvan.

Layla stood outside for as long as she could, until the moving carriage was out of sight and the wind blew harder against her frame.

She sighed and turned, moving toward the open door when she stopped at the sight of Douglas Gray, dashing as ever, and she felt disgusted.

He held a hand to the other end of the threshold, keeping her from reentering Vinnlake hall.

"Have you decided to accompany me to bed yet, Layla Aizen?"

She barked out a laugh, hating the feeling prickling over her body. "Desperate, Douglas Gray?"

"No," he said, leaning into the doorway. "I only want what I want."

"Oh? And I'm supposed to accept this simply because you _want what you want_?"

He smirked confidently. "It would be in your best interest to do as I want."

She shook her head. "Do you go to sleep at night thinking one day I'll say _yes_?"

"I can only dream of what I would do to you."

"You disgust me," she spat.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he answered with a suggestive wink.

Layla rolled her eyes and she walked past Douglas Gray as he scooted away allowing her entrance.

"I'm not interested."

"Ah yes," he said suddenly, drawing her attention again. "You're interested in the viscount."

Layla shrugged her shoulders as she regarded Douglas with the last bit of her time. "Maybe the viscount, maybe someone else."

He chuckled darkly. "If I were you, I would be more careful around him, the quiet ones are always the tricky ones."

She ignored him.

* * *

"I hate him," growled Layla as she slid underneath the blankets beside Starrk.

"Hmm?" He looked over his shoulder sleepy-eyed.

She frowned in response.

Starrk shifted until he turned over to face her, an elbow propped up behind her head. "Who?"

"Douglas Gray."

He shut his eyes and his eyebrows knitted in annoyance. "Don't think about him."

She yawned and draped her arm over closed eyes during which he wrapped an arm about her waist and drew her closer. She got comfortable against him and curled her fingers over his shirt.

Slowly she began drifting into slumber when she picked up the faded scent of her perfume on his skin and the short realization that she had not been with him the entire afternoon.

She kissed his face, instead, burying the strange feeling at the pit of her stomach and snuggled against him thoughtlessly until she fell asleep.


	28. Myriad of Lies 5

**Masquerade**

Chapter 28

-_**Myriad of Lies 5**_-

_And there is sadness one might not know,_

_There are times when it all clouds one's mind_

_When there is nothing but blood_

_Where there is nothing but corpses…_

_And they lift their heads_

_And they will see_

_How affecting it has been._

Robin Talbot never existed and she was not a woman of pleasure.

That sort of mentality helped fend off her miseries quiet easily. She could simply call herself a different name and be a different person because at the start of every day she would not be Robin Talbot, the prostitute.

Prostitute was a harsh title to have, she thought, but it seemed most appropriate. It had not always been that way though, there should be a time in which she could consider her life normal.

She was a child then, grew up in a cottage out in the middle of nowhere, the youngest daughter of a vicar, that every spring spent her days in a garden full of yellow dandelions. Everybody knew the Talbots. Everyone knew everyone in that small village.

Ironic. Robin Talbot's history was a web of irony.

When her eldest and only brother, handsome, daring Abraham died during a hunting expedition everything changed. Her eldest sisters were married off quickly, but they bore witness to the slight changes their father underwent once his favorite son died. She lived and saw the aftermath. She observed and dwelled in memory. Events, personas, and actions registered in her mind to forever help her distinguish what she perceived as good and what she figured was bad.

Her father grew paranoid of everyone's actions. He winced whenever someone approached him, suffered blood curling nightmares that had him screaming throughout the night, and made him miserable.

She saw the look in his eyes as he watched after her mother's trail, and with every exchange the woman made with every man they narrowed in frustration. As far as she had ever been aware, her mother was never a cheater, actually it would be more appropriate to say that that reality only existed in her head because her mother would always be the worst sort of woman. She could be considered the queen of successful infidelities until she was not.

Abraham's death made her father perceptive. It made him loony.

He beat his wife. He did so on multiple occasions. She watched from the aperture of the wardrobe where her mother would hide her during such occasions. The subsequent arguments led to the loss of his duty at the vicarage, the destruction of their home, and a bruising, bleeding mother that could not get out of bed and if she did the entire town ostracized and tortured her.

She simply watched it all unfold.

Maybe her mother deserved it for having that sort of addiction and that might have been the reason as to why she felt comfortable around married men. Her mother often said that those that belonged to other women were the best sort of men to involve oneself with because they provided the sweetest type of attention.

She held her hand as she died and while expecting her mother to say she loved her dearly. Robin deserved to be loved after all she had witnessed. Instead she said children were a bother and asked her not to have any because she deserved to live the life she never could.

The next day she found her mother with a knife protruding from her chest in a cruel splay of crimson seeping and dripping through the mattress. The echo of droplets rang in her ears for the years that followed.

Her father committed suicide within the next three hours.

She was fourteen.

Her sisters were too busy raising troublesome children to care for her properly, but there were men, many of them. One after the next, actually, since she moved to London on a whim, though most were married.

Her mother's only advice was spot on. They truly were the affectionate sort and they were always enthusiastic about treating her properly. She was showered with gifts later in her progressions, covered in the most expensive jewels, wore the latest fashions, and had beautiful men flaunting over her like moths to a candle.

By the time she was eighteen she had been the mistress of three men and was now well-versed in the art of seduction. If she wanted someone, whoever it was, she could have him.

But one winter evening, years from then, _he _came to her.

He called himself the Viscount L'Isle for the first year, but she knew much about him. Tall, handsome man of status. Everyone was talking about the Three Families arriving to London, joining at long last. She enjoyed hearing the gossip. She liked learning about them; actually, they were like untouchable beings on display. Sometimes you met them, sometimes you didn't. Some were deserving of standing even a meter from them, others were asked to avoid polluting their space.

Robin Talbot was lucky to have made plenty acquaintances within the Three Families and became the mistress of one. Of course, Coyote Starrk never attended the revelries. He only went out to do his job as a member of his family and to pay her a weekly visit. Sometimes he arrived at her home at corner of the street covered in blood that not once belonged to him. There was a bitterness about those days that she could never wash away.

Things went on as such until he arrived as he came to put an end to their liaison and an emotion inside of her bubbled until it spilled.

"Why?" she asked with a squeak as she stumbled off her bed to meet him at the door.

Starrk stood with his hand on the handle. "Do not make a scene, Robin."

She ran her fingers through her red hair and put a seal on that bubbling emotion. It was quite simple, to accept his decision as men tended to grow bored of their mistresses if they were not in love with them, and she had gone through it many times before. So she put on her loveliest smile and kissed his cheek in farewell.

Robin buried her feelings that day and a month later laid eyes on the young girl he had his sights on. Rumored to have been sheltered until a year before and that she grew ill easily, a delicate woman who could do nothing but sit or stand and look graciously pretty. A young, inexperienced woman had taken his favor from her.

Did they see eye to eye because they were members of unreachable clans?

Did she love him?

Did he love her?

How was she so different?

Who gave her that pedestal?

Why does everything good get taken from her by those she perceived as undeserving?

It was indeed selfish, she knew, but it could not stop her.

Robin Talbot received an invitation to Vinnlake Hall from Lord Kyoraku of the Yamamoto clan and accepted to be his month-long entertainer on a single condition: to be able to wear a different mask every day.

"Will everyone be at Vinnlake Hall, Lord Kyoraku?" asked Robin, reclined against a chair with a pipe sitting between her ruby lips as white streams of noxious smoke snaked around her. Her eyes crinkled as they found the face of Shunsui Kyoraku through the heavy haze of her drawing room.

He smiled in response, raising a glass of white wine. "Everyone was invited."

She avoided asking the question burning at the tip of her tongue. Will Viscount L'Isle attend? "Charming gathering, isn't it?"

"The families are in much need of peace."

She took another drag of her pipe and puffed out rings of smoke, eyes and mind clouded as the entirety of the room. "This gathering sounds much more interesting than I thought."

"It should prove entertaining, but I refuse to attend without someone to assure my enjoyment of this trip. I hate being bored."

"Ah, yes, do not fret, Lord Kyoraku." She bowed her head, red ringlets brushing against her naked shoulder. "I will surely keep you company."

"What will you call yourself, Miss Talbot?"

She took a minute of silent contemplation before drawing her pipe from her lips and resting that hand on her lap, tapping out the ash into small box. "Claire. You may call me Claire and I will be an actor."

"An actor?" he questioned, amused.

"I always wanted to be performer."

Performers could do anything. Anything they practice for, whatever they wished to indulge into.

When she arrived to Vinnlake Hall she met various other members of the families, the beneficiary, and introduced herself to the guards and servants of the extravagant manor.

Then it happened.

On one dull afternoon, while the servants busied themselves preparing the bedchambers and drawing rooms for the Aizen clan, the steward's underling, William, asked if she would be so kind as to escort the women to their rooms. Amused, but thoughtless, she accepted the boy's request and bustled down to the foyer to meet them: Layla and her cousin, Halibel.

She had never seen Layla up close, only observed from afar. She was vibrant, sophisticated, beautiful, and kind.

How can she be so kind to those of lesser importance? She was a prostitute, yet she easily befriended her. William was a mere servant, yet she treated him as an equal.

"Do you not find it arrogant of her to treat us with such kindness?" asked Claire leaning into the doorframe of William's tiny lodgings.

The young man stood before a basin of water with a towel around his shoulders and his sepia-tinted eyes staring straightly at her. The tips of his blond hair were dripping wet from the first wash of his face.

"Of who, Miss Talbot?"

She cringed at the sound of her name.

"Layla Aizen."

He frowned deeply. "I do not see a shred of arrogance in her; there is no reason for you to perceive her actions as such. It is unseemly."

She scoffed in response. "Do you honestly think she considers herself our friend?"

"She cares very deeply for us."

"There is a limit to that kindness. Eventually she will leave Vinnlake Hall and never return and you will never see her again. You will go on being nobody in this large manor—"

"And you'll go on being a whore," he answered bitterly.

Her eyes narrowed. "You really are a humorless, inconsiderate boy."

He continued washing his face and began patting it dry. "Why is it that every day you come into my room and try to make an enemy out of Layla Aizen?"

She would stand every day since she met him personally and would ask a series of inquiries that led to the same question and she would say the same thing each time.

"I am only watching out for you, dear William, I do think it is common for some nobility to be kind to those who work for them, but I feel Layla's reasons lean towards pity. She pities us, William. A sheltered woman like her can only pity others because they do not have the luxuries she does. We are not her equals."

"I am well aware of the difference in our ranks. But, I do think you have overlooked the difference in _our_ ranks."

She straightened out at sound of the acrimony in his tone and pushed the door shut with a boom. "Fool."

Foolish.

Claire became an avid admirer of the viscount's romance with Layla because she was not Robin Talbot and she had only been in love once with a fellow actor on the London stage. He rejected her upon recognizing her feelings, but she never forgot the man. That's how every mask worked.

But Robin always crept from within the darkness to obstruct her admiration of them and she sought reasons to hate this naïve woman. It was easier to cope with the jealousy that way.

Then came her teasing and temptation, she had an itching to see if he truly cared for this woman as much as she thought.

Love was a fickle thing and Robin was an expert in the art of seduction. She took pride in it and in that situation, when he was ensnared, it proved to be perfect. She thought she had it all as she held him in her arms, breathing heavily, with her nails digging into his back but…he whispered _her _name instead.

It was obvious then and it stung.

"You have her, yet you bed me. Is she not enough?"

He looked to her with a hardened gaze.

She expected him to remain silent, but he responded. "I will not tarnish her."

Layla could not be tarnished.

It infuriated her.

The second time he came by it was earlier that evening after she arrived from a walk around the garden with Douglas Gray before the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge left Vinnlake Hall. He passed her by and the scent of Layla's perfume filled the hall around them. He quickly took her by the wrist and she could say nothing against it.

Her mind clouded and she could barely gather enough strength to leave the bed to dress. She merely stared at him as he redid his necktie.

"You have never been so passionate, my lord," she said dreamily, drawing the sheets up to her chest and folding her legs. "Was it, perhaps, the allure of Layla Aizen's scent that caused such titillation?"

He stood, slipping into his coat as he left without looking at her. "Do not speak her name."

She despised her and she refused to rest easy. Getting rid of a pitiful girl like Layla was child's play.

It made her stomach churn how these awful thoughts rushed past her mind.

* * *

Roxanne sat crouched beneath a set of hedges aligning one of the largest windows of the Scotland Yard, holding the gold rings around her wrists together to stop the constant clanking when she snuck into place. The chief, his partner, the detectives, and a few selected officers often gathered there for meetings—most of which concerned the Three Families, the object of everyone's interest, including her own.

For the past few days she had had the chance to meet plenty of the officers working underneath Shinji Hirako's leadership and got along with them better than she had their precious chief. But the blond had a tendency of kicking her out of the building because she was a distraction and refused to share the information they gathered on the Book of Death and the Fourth Family.

She pushed her black hair behind her ear; bright green eyes flickered upward to the bustling hedges as she perked up at the sound of something interesting.

"The Fourth Family is hosting a dinner party a week before the other's arrival to London," said Love, their detective. "I've also made a list of various suspected members."

"There are plenty nobles within the circle, it's surprising," commented Rose.

"Obviously, those rich bastards have nothing better to do than invest their money on illegal meddling," answered Shinji exasperatedly. "What else do you know about that dinner party?"

On cue, Roxanne bolted onto her feet and leaned into the opened window frame drawing everyone's attention upon speaking. "It's during the evening apparently and _we_," she gestured to herself and Shinji who glared furiously at her, "will be in attendance."

"Hello, Roxanne." Rose waved at her.

"Why don't you come in?" Love opened the door for her to enter.

Shinji got out of his seat with furrowed eyebrows. "Outsiders aren't allowed to enter, so I'll ignore the fact that eavesdropping on this meeting is a crime so you can leave." He reached for the windows as he gestured to Love to shut the door and Roxanne pressed both palms against their frames to keep them opened.

"You have to listen to me; I've been doing enough snooping—"

"Go away!"

"Listen!" she cried. "I heard from a series of individuals in attendance and many owed me a lot of favors so I got something under works as we speak."

Rose placed a hand over Shinji's. "Give her a listen, then decide whether or not it's useless information or not."

"She's a lying cheat with a shit memory, she'll prolly walk through those doors and say, _oh I forgot_, like she has done with every advancement in our investigation."

"We can't deny the bits and pieces of her memory have gotten us this far," offered Kensei from his place by the chief's desk. "If she hadn't mentioned the Book of Death, Love wouldn't have been sent out to investigate it to find proof of a dinner party."

"Don't encourage her!"

"Come in, Roxanne," Love said, again.

Shinji dropped his hold on the windows and stared down at the smile appearing on her face. He gestured to her with a jut of his chin. "Get in."

"Right," she chirped and rushed out of the hedges and towards the entrance. She ventured into the room and took a seat in the chair offered to her.

Shinji took short steps back to the front of his desk where he turned and leaned against it. "This better be good."

"It's hauntingly good," she asserted. It had only taken her a thousand lies to plant the seed of doubt into Hisana's mind until her prophetic visions started manifesting themselves as nightmares. The poor girl turned insomniac for the last three days and only managed to get some peaceful sleep that morning after Rangiku made warm tea and Roxanne massaged her temples until she dozed off on their laps.

Shinji gestured coolly. "Well, go on."

The other occupants of the room got comfortable around the place.

"Restating the obvious and a fair share of not so evident information," she begun critically, recalling the words spoken to her by Hisana who told her about every vision religiously during sleepless nights. She omitted the fair share of reprimands the young girl had every right of giving and the incoherent portions. "The Fourth Family is made up of various individuals set on stripping the Three Families of their control over the world. You see the Luisenbarn managed full control of South America and Yamamoto is sealing deals in the Middle East, and of course the Aizen spread their businesses into Russia three months ago—putting it simply, things in England have finally gotten out of control with the new developments."

She paused and had a look from one officer to the next.

Shinji turned to Rose quizzically. "Is that true?"

Rose moved to the chief's desk and rummaged through a pile of papers until he found a book full of all the information they had gathered on the Three Families. "Those are certainly noteworthy."

"Are they in there or not?" demanded Shinji.

Love crossed his arms over his chest. "We only have accounts of their business activity of three years ago."

Shinji gave Roxanne a hardened stare. "How sure are you?"

"Don't doubt me," she stated with a childish pout. "It's credible information."

"Write it out elsewhere. We'll determine its credibility some other time." He gestured for her to continue.

"The Fourth Family has been planning something for the past year and they have just put it into effect," she started. She easily turned to speculation as Hisana only said few things in accordance to everything including the dinner party she assured would be attended by her and the chief of police because they shared common interests. "The dinner party could be considered a briefing before the lightshow and we'll be receiving invitations." She, once more, pointed at herself then to the chief.

Shinji twirled his finger. "That I don't understand. Who would invite you anywhere?"

Roxanne frowned deeply. "_We share common interests!_"

"Because we hate each other?"

"You're irritable, but I don't hate you."

"Well, I do."

The girl bolted out of her seat, eyes ablaze. "You prick!"

Shinji straightened out. "Oi!"

Rose patted the chief's shoulder. "We sit this one out, it seems."

"Looks like the best we can do," said Kensei taking his things from Shinji's desk. "I'm going on this afternoon's rounds and start the investigation on that body we found yesterday evening."

Roxanne stared at him incredulously. "You found a body yesterday evening?"

"Aizen beneficiary, we have a total of five now."

"Fifteen dead since the families left all together, we're about to reach twenty," continued Love. "Two this week."

"They're all fine and dandy, aren't they?" she questioned sardonically.

"You shouldn't be disclosing confidential information, Love, Kensei."

Kensei grunted in response and patted Roxanne's head on the way, followed by Love who excused himself to work as the latter's partner. Rose quickly noticed the emptiness of the room and suddenly remembered a job he had pending and scurried out leaving them on their own.

Roxanne stared at Shinji, tight-lipped and critically. "Are you only a chauvinistic bastard against gypsies?"

"I didn't think chauvinistic was even in yer vocabulary," he answered indifferently.

She huffed. "Are we every going to have a civic conversation? I do deserve it. I've proven my worth and intelligence on numerous occasions so it wouldn't be too awful to ask for a proper exchange, without insults."

"I don't enjoy having conversations with people that have stolen from me on various occasions."

She raised a finger. "In my defense, I needed money that day and had no option but to steal, but I felt rather lazy about going out there to steal, so I borrowed it."

"Stealing is stealing."

"And I never took your watch," she added once the silence looked bleak.

"Shaddup, Roxanne."

"I can return the money. Today, actually, if you give me a chance." She stared at him hopeful. "I'm supposed to meet Rye to perform in the plaza, you should come."

"Hell no." He turned and begun shuffling papers over his desk. "If yer returning the money do it quick."

She nodded curtly and headed out the door murmuring, "Fine, you twat."

"I heard that!"

"Good riddance." She bumped her hip to the side, the clanking of gold ringing noisily in his ears as she departed.

Unbeknownst to the tanned-skinned girl were the chief's eyes burning the image of her form into them. Annoying girl, definitely, but he couldn't help but find her the least bit attractive even if she was a bit young.

"_Fuck._"

…

Disregarding prior incentive and any new reports in need of immediate attention, Shinji Hirako, chief of the Scotland Yard, left his office an hour after Roxanne's departure and walked straight to the Romani Plaza without detours or denial as he, like many others, would attend to watch her dance. He expected the entire caravan to be in attendance of the event, gathered and rancorously cheering as any cliché would have made him believe, but found most spectators were either middleclass or nobility in search of momentary entertainment. He caught wind of hushed voices commenting on the sound of music, which was unlike what they were used to, but it definitely managed their approval.

Roxanne's brother, the tall, tanned-skinned young man, sat atop a mat with a guitar in his hands and his fingers skillfully plucking the strings alongside an older gentleman who held a weathered instrument.

Roxanne had flowers in her flowing raven hair, and her vibrant eyes focused every instant as she swayed her body with the sound of music. He could not see her directly because it was crowding with spectators. Whenever certain individuals moved to better accommodate themselves to view the remainder of the performance he could see her bright green skirt fluttering around her ankles. The gold decorating her clanked along with the plucking of strings until it settled the rhythm of the entire composition.

Shinji stayed with his back against a lamppost watching from afar until the performance was over. Roxanne smiled graciously as the hat sitting on the ground was filled with a fair amount of change from those that bore witness to their display. She waited for everyone to clear out of the plaza before slinking toward the hat and fishing out the money from inside.

She took a seat while speaking to her companions with a jubilant expression, simultaneously counting the coins inside the palm of her hand.

Rye took the money she tried to pocket and playfully smacked her shoulder as she barked out a laugh. The older man beside received them from Rye, ruffled his messy dark locks and left with his guitar.

She shouted after him in her native tongue in which he responded with a playful grin on his aged face and a quick wave. Her brother continued laughing, obviously teasing her as she dropped the hat atop his lap with a glower.

Her gaze wandered and she found him standing with his arms cross over his chest. She approached him as she pulled out a bag full of coins and tossed them in his direction. He caught it midair and pushed it into his pants' pocket.

"Quite a show wasn't it?" she asked, straightening out before him with her arms held behind her back.

"I aint interested what ya do, by the way," he stated passively. "I only came for what ya owe me."

She frowned, both hands on her hips. "An' now you've got, so go away."

He felt his lips tugging upward at the sight of her furrowed eyebrows. "Ya said something about an invitation, didn't ya?"

"What good is it if I show you mine when you haven't received yours?"

His eyebrow twitched. "Then ya already got yers?"

"Obviously. I wouldn't go to the Scotland Yard spouting nonsense if I didn't have a basis."

"Basis? That's there, too?"

Roxanne scoffed, arms crossed over her chest. "What? You think I'm uneducated because of my background? I can speak English _and _German fluently, no problem. We have people within the caravan that educate us better than any old tutor that had to bear with that insufferable attitude of yours."

His smile widened and reached to her hair. His fingers grazed the white flower resting behind her ear when she twitched out of the way.

"Yer fun ta tease, Roxanne."

She growled shoving him and turned on her heel to head elsewhere. "I am not a toy, you useless bastard."

He chuckled as he watched her stomped towards the Romani territory, met by her brother and the young girls always trailing after her.

She was definitely fun to tease.

"And stop staring at me you goddamned pervert! Ugh!" cried Roxanne from atop a stone bench.

Shinji shook his head as a playful laugh escaped his lips.

* * *

Layla sat reclined against Starrk's chest, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. She stared out the clearing blue skies absentmindedly with her hands holding onto his arms until she lost herself within her own thoughts. There were plenty things floating about her mind at the moment: contemplating her current position, taking up Rovina's advice concerning her request (they served to further her desire to pursue it) among other things.

Her day had started quite simply, full of tranquility—a lazy, seemingly normal day—and she spent it with Starrk.

Normally, she would find it exciting to be with him the entire day but from the moment she woke from slumber all she could do was stare at his calm expression as he slept. She had awakened an hour and a half before William knocked at her bedroom door. She did not touch him, simply moved away from him and kept her eyes on him until he opened his and stared right back.

She pushed the covers from her body and stumbled out of bed, not a word left her lips as she got through her morning routine. Starrk excused himself momentarily but returned a few hours later bathed and dressed. He mentioned having already eaten breakfast as she fingered her food.

She had lost her appetite. Perhaps, she had not felt very hungry to start.

Starrk placed his hands on her shoulders. "You should eat something."

She continued staring a platter full of food with a fork in hand and shook her head.

He leaned forward. "Did something happen?"

Again, she shook her head.

He kissed the top of her head wordlessly and sauntered toward the canopy where he took a seat. He quietly watched her, henceforth, occasionally trying to get her to speak, but no effort on his behalf worked.

She spoke to no one that entire morning, not even William. She huddled up against Starrk when she couldn't stand being restless and had no inclination to study. In fact, she did not seem to want to do much of anything.

There were too many thoughts in her mind to allow her to concentrate properly.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asked as his hold tightened.

She shook her head in response, not a single word could leave her lips. They parted and she tried uttering a single sound, but it did nothing for her.

What could she say when she felt nothing at all?

"You mentioned Douglas Gray yesterday, did he do something?"

Then they spilled, so simply, so easily, like breathing the crisp morning air.

"Would have been best to listen yesterday evening, wouldn't it?" Her tone had grown bitter.

He drew back, hands on her arms, and sighed. "He doesn't seem to take my threats seriously."

She tugged free of his hold and slipped of bed. She pulled her shoes on and turned to him. "I can manage, I obviously did," she stated. "You can go if you wish. I don't want to stay here."

…

Layla coaxed William and the mansion's steward, Mr. Price, to let her help around the kitchens and her butler explained how his schedule worked on a daily basis. He went onto explain the preparations for the Duke of Burgundy's arrival within the next two days.

"My father has asked me to meet him as provisional bait," she said while leaning over the countertop as she watched the blond young man slice tomatoes. "Is he handsome, Will?"

"Might be an old bloke for all you know," he said with a chuckle.

"How does a woman act when asked to engage in such a thing?"

"You have plenty charm, my lady."

"Really?" She blinked innocently waving her hand in dismissal. "I don't think it's worked particularly well."

"You're glowing, miss."

"Then I shouldn't express the least bit of effort in my conquest."

"Do you believe your father would ask such a thing of you?"

Layla stayed silent until they were left on that side of the kitchens on their own, no one at hearing distance.

"It is necessary for us to acquire the Duke of Burgundy's favor, it seems."

Will smiled but remained silent for quite some time. "Why is it that you speak so kindly to me?"

"Hmm?" She stared at him with a warming smile. "You reminded me of my brother at first, but you're a bit skittish and stubborn and a little loony at times." She watched as his grin twitched upward. "But you have been here with me day and night, whenever necessary, actually. You're my only friend left here, William."

The knife in his hand hit the chopping block noisily as his cheeks colored slightly. "You do understand the difference in our ranks, right?"

"Nonsense," she said quickly, leaning further onto the counter.

"But it isn't nonsense, my lady, you stand at a higher stand in noble hierarchy, yet you spent most of your time in Vinnlake Hall making friends of the servants without exception and you ask nothing in return—"

She lifted a hand to silence him and in a low tone of voice. "I have never considered myself being in any position to speak or treat anyone differently. I do not see rank, William, so everyone in this darn kitchen and home can very well be my friend."

"You treat members of the other families differently," he said pointedly.

"Oh now you're just getting cheeky."

"It is true."

"You've met my father, haven't you? That should serve as much explanation necessary to pardon my…attitude towards them." She looked away from him, the smile fading. "Sometimes you must act a certain way to get what you want."

…

Layla knocked against her father's drawing room, knowing he was inside and waited patiently to be beckoned inside. She did not dread what would ensue of her tenacity because there was one thing in life she desired more than anything and every passing day made it clearer. She was nine on the last day she saw her mother and she was now twenty-two. She lived fourteen years in doubt, in sorrow, and daily nightmares. She always considered it unfair, to have lived so little time with her birthmother and spent many more with a woman that would never accept her, and she thought it wrong to think that way. She lived every girl's fantasy. Anyone would find reason to be happy within luxury, yet she never grew accustomed to it. She understood that having been taken in by her noble father (though it was unnecessary) was what life had given her to work with, but she was old enough now. She had been for many years and it was time for her to do something.

"Come in."

"Excuse me," she uttered beneath her breath as she slipped inside the chilling room.

Her father was standing with his back to her and a wineglass in his hand. There were a number of books sitting atop one of the tables. He turned, regarding her a moment before looking away. "Do you need something in particular?"

"I want my mother."

He put down his glass and turned to her. "We have talked about this, Layla, whether you want your mother or not does not change the fact that she is dead."

"Yes, it's understandable, no human being is able to circumvent death," she started. "But you see, father, I don't think she is dead."

His eyes narrowed. "You have no proof to support your claim, Layla, and I do. Your mother only lasted three years after losing her mind and in her condition it was quite easy to take her own life."

He spoke of her so simply that her chest clenched in ache. He talked of Jaelle as if was nobody, someone of meager importance that it irritated her.

"I don't believe you." She bit her lip.

"You have no choice."

"You can give me my mother and I will do as you wish. I will learn everything necessary to make this family conquer our enemies, I will have all our businesses prosper and expand, and I will not complain." Her voice broke and dropped into mere whispers."I only wish to see her once. _Just once._ And it will be enough."

"You will do as I wish without need of a ghost."

"Don't you get it?" she cried. "I won't believe you because I know you're lying. She was not the sort of woman that would lose her mind, not when we needed her the most."

"Layla, return to your bedchambers."

"Why would you give me this bloody responsibility if you know I would never accept it?" she continued. "Why would you expect me agree to it? I don't want to be anything like you. I hate it here! I hate it anywhere so long as you're there!"

A grin drew his lips and she despised him with more reason.

She was only an experiment in his eyes. He looked at her that way, only acted on instinct not because he cared but because it was necessary to keep his tool from getting harmed. There was never any love in the household. It was cold and dreadful, instead.

"You understand nothing now, Layla," he started. "You shouldn't expect to comprehend the reason for my choice because you are, as we speak, an innocent child in my eyes. You have not fully matured, so you are not ready to demand anything. You need to be broken, dear, and you are well on your way."

She cursed him to the ends of the world as she stormed out with a slam of the door.

She did not go further as she felt the trickle of tears stain her cheeks and the beating of her heart frighten her. She slumped against the nearest wall as she brushed away the tears with her finger and stared at the large mirror in front of her and the dreadful looking woman staring back. The back of her throat ached.

A door within the drawing room clicked open.

She kicked her heels off with a huff when she heard his voice quietly address a nameless individual within his bedchamber.

"Find Jaelle and kill her."

Layla's breath hitched.

Not another thought crossed her mind as she haphazardly rushed down the hall. She knew exactly where to go, who to speak to, and who to rely on. With her heart pounding in her head, worry shaking from her pores, and fear churning in her stomach she dismally ran down the first flight of stairs on the second floor. Fresh tears left streaks against her flushed cheeks, dripping from her chin, and falling like little splashes of raindrops upon the flesh of her neck and noisy fabric of her green dress.

Her fingers scarcely touched the balustrade on her way down, but grazed it as she stepped onto the first floor barefoot and distraught. She did not acknowledge the scrutinizing stares she received as she stifled a sob, curled her fingers over the front of her dress, and sped off. The sound of her bare feet slapping along the marble resonated in the back of her mind. Everyone around her blurred into a kaleidoscope of vivid colors and many familiar voices called out to her. She heard them, acknowledged them, but did nothing to make them think she had because she wanted nothing to do with anybody. She wanted to run until she met with Soifon and felt safe enough to talk. She was lost, though, inside her head on the brink of shattering with this pent up emotion at the pit of her stomach, corroding her insides, destroying her peace.

She thought of her past on occasion because she wanted to find reason to feel thankful towards the events that compromised her luxurious lifestyle today. She wanted something little, a tiny speck would do, that assured her everything that occurred that day had not been a twist of fate but fate itself. That every day of her life had been leading to it so it could formally be considered the turning point of her pitiful existence and it would be fine, but it was not. There was an ugliness within that whirl of events that permanently marked her. She could not forget them.

It had been a fated turning point, though. It separated her permanently from her siblings and a mother everyone claimed had gone insane with grief and committed suicide. Every passing day she naively preferred thinking her mother had gone on a trip far, far away and she left her with this stranger for a week. And every week turned to a month and then to a year until finally, Roxanne told her what she had perceived as truth for the past four years.

She was not able to see past that curtain of rain.

Not until now.

Her father revealed it himself by sending some unknown stranger to search for Jaelle to kill her. Have the job done and show her a grave in which a fresh corpse was laid to rest. She knew her father well enough to know it would be that way.

She wanted to stop him. It was a stupid notion, but she did not care about being reckless. She wanted her mother more than she wanted this life of luxury.

Layla stumbled out the back door as one of the guards was walking in.

"Wait!"

The unknown guard turned suddenly. "Yes, Miss Layla."

"Soifon," she said breathlessly. "Where is she?"

"Guesthouse, but you shouldn't be on your own, Miss Layla—"

"I can be on my own if I wish," she interjected and watched the man double over to bow with an apologetic murmur.

Layla ran out into the paved gravel wrapped around the garden and caught sight of the dirt path leading deep inside the forest to the guesthouse. She recognized many faces passing her by, greeting her, and watching her. Among them were Douglas Gray, the Earl of Surrey, Claire, and Neliel accompanied by Ulquiorra.

On her way through the dirt path she felt small, jagged rocks cutting into the sole of her foot and the weeds decorating the area tickling her ankles. She might have stumbled along the way, once or twice after her legs had given out on her, but she arrived to the guesthouse in one piece.

Ikkaku stood by the door, speaking casually to another guard she didn't know when he caught sight of her disheveled form. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I tripped," she answered dismissively. Her eyes searched the long porch. "Where's Soifon?"

"Inside." He walked over and held the door open as she stepped toward it.

She half expected to have to explain her situation, but was relieved to find him a tad bit understanding. He might have thought it better to let Soifon take care of it.

Layla found the short, raven-haired woman giving orders to a group of guards in the foyer, but dismissed them immediately at the sight of her. Once they were all gone and her eyes started itching with more tears, Soifon opened her mouth to speak.

"You must find her." Layla's voice was soft and weak as it rudely interrupted the short guard. "At all cost, you must find her."

Soifon stared at her incredulously. "Did someone hurt you?"

"Please find her." A single tear streaked down her muddied face. "You have to just find her." Another followed shortly after and the rest were inevitable.

Her guard could only stare. "Who?"

"My mother. He will kill her. He just might. I can't—_you have to find her_." Her knees buckled underneath the weight of her exhaustion and they hit hard against the marble. Soifon grabbed her by the elbows and tried helping her to her feet, but she only latched on to repeat what had already been said, only incoherently. With every tear her voice wavered until she could no longer enunciate properly. "Please, please, help her."

"Get up, Layla," Soifon order crisply.

She could only raise her head to acknowledge her.

"Where?" asked the guard.

"I don't—"

Soifon stepped past her, crossing the foyer. "Madarame!"

"Yes?" the man called behind the door.

The shorter woman walked out of the guesthouse, hand still on the doorknob. "You're in charge here. Make sure the lady returns to her bedchambers as she is not feeling well."

"Yes, ma'am."

Layla watched Soifon speed into the dirt path and vanish beyond the sea of trees.

Somehow, it would work. She could only hope.

* * *

**Thanks to**: ookawa, rainy-lullaby, Dia de Luz, Sweet And Deadly, Anon, and cheesebubble for reviewing the previous chapter.

Myriad of Lies should be ending in about two chapters. As I type this up, a week before the scheduled update, I haven't written the following chapters. I am working on Ch 29, 1000 words in and it's only a quarter of what's going to be going on.

Second place isn't so bad. You get six chapters and I'll try making you wait longer on a better cliffhanger.

Thanks for reading! :)

**Next update**: April 5


	29. Myriad of Lies 6

**Masquerade**

Chapter 29

-_**Myriad of Lies 6**_-

_Your tear-filled voice_

_Still rings in my ears_

_Muffled by walls,_

_Hidden behind locked doors,_

_Whispering incoherent words_

_Until you could no longer say_

_"__**Stop.**__"_

"You'll be happy to know he is not a decrepit old man in need of a cane."

At the sound of Will's playful tone, Layla raised her head from more business-related books situated on her lap; full of numerical equations she had trouble understanding. Her eyebrows rose along with her interest.

"What decrepit old man?"

Will shook his head, a smile playing on his lips as he took an empty plate of food onto a silver tray. "The Duke of Burgundy."

"Ah, tomorrow's the final ball, is it not?"

"Yes. Your father has asked for your presence in the drawing room downstairs."

"Everyone is already present, I take it."

"You are tardy by a little over twenty minutes."

Layla shut her book and stacked it upon the rest as she stood from her comfortable seat in her boudoir. She flattened out any wrinkles upon the navy blue skirt of her gown and double checked her reflection on a full-sized mirror. Her auburn locks had been pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck with thin ringlets cascading over her back and her cheeks were colored a rosy pink to give her pallid complexion a gracious color.

She pivoted her body to get a better look at the bows running along the side of the gown. "A bit gaudy, isn't it?"

"You look wonderful, my lady, you mustn't be another minute late, I do hear the man is tired of his excruciatingly adventurous journey to Vinnlake Hall." Will had already begun ushering her out of her boudoir with a swift gesture of the hand. "He might retire to his bedchamber by the time you make your way down the grand staircase."

"Now, I would not call them _grand, _William," she said playfully, using her final seconds within her getaway to dab a sweet smelling perfume along the base of her neck and around her wrists.

"There is no time to play when you have pressing matters."

Will halted at her bedroom door where he barred the entrance with his thin, willowy form to keep escape from her mind as he watched various nervous breakdowns during her preparation for that afternoon. She was expected to do exactly as she had thought: to win over the Duke of Burgundy with sophisticated charm. Her acting would be noteworthy and believable to the eyes of the unknown and it would be the perfect blend of sincerity and flirtatiousness. No one would note a difference in her demeanor because she ensured its spontaneity to be no less than charismatic and that the man himself had caught her fancy.

If the famed Duke of Burgundy found something interesting within one of the family's he would surely feel tempted to stay for further observation. Her father clearly asked her to become the object he wishes to learn more of, but simultaneously learning nothing at all. It would add intrigue and the man enjoyed mysteries.

Layla was asked to venture into the drawing room late for a reason.

"Wish me luck, William."

She certainly hoped to get through the day without ruining the plan.

Will gave her a reassuring smile while pulling the doors closed with a light snap. "Much luck to you, my lady."

She mirrored his grin, tapped her heels against the marble until the matching shoes fit comfortably and bid farewell to her butler. Whenever she passed a mirror she worried on whether or not her appearance would be acceptable. Claire took care of fixing her hair and choosing a suiting gown for the afternoon, but she had second thoughts of the light make up on her face and the rosiness of her cheeks that contrasted her alabaster skin horribly. Her sickly condition had been exemplified rather than hidden.

Layla took the staircase laxly and ventured across the foyer to the strained mirth of familiar guests emerging from the drawing room and a new commanding voice that spoke of adventures overseas and other nonsensical sort of fantasy reality he must have lived throughout his trek from the continent. She quietly approached and stayed at the entrance of the large room, her eyes taking in the sight of various important guests including the family heads and their heirs with the exception of herself as she was asked to arrive tardy, but aside from them no other family members were in attendance.

She drew attention to herself almost immediately and her eyes quickly found the Duke of Burgundy sitting besides his equally handsome brother, Ferdinand. Unlike the youngest, the duke was taller and leaner and he had a jovial, angular face with dark, gleeful eyes and a mass of messily tamed blond curls.

"Forgive the interruption," she said with a curt bow.

Aizen stood from his seat near the doorway and strode towards her acting the part of a concerned parent. Barragan Luisenbarn grunted an insult beneath his breath, caught only by Starrk who stood behind him with the youngest Yamamoto heir sitting on his shoulders.

"Should you be out of bed, Layla? I had already excused your absence." Her father went onto feign worry and she found herself unable to tear her gaze from the duke sitting by the open window with the soft breeze rustling his hair, whether she got into the character meant to portray or she was simply swayed, she did not know.

Someone cleared their throat.

She smiled apologetically in response to her father's inquiry and tore her gaze from the handsome new addition to the room. If one ignored the older men, Douglas Gray (though his handsomeness merited some attention), the children, and her father…the drawing room was full of handsome men and in many ways…a personal heaven.

_Such filthy thoughts! _

Regrettably, only one called attention to the beating appendage in her chest and made it rush and slow in exuberance and sorrow and he was busily being picked on by a child half his age and size.

"I feel much better, father," she answered curtly.

"And who might this delectable creature be?" started Douglas Gray cynically blowing a ring of smoke from his pipe while casting a curious glance the duke. He held his head high, arrogantly, as always and had made himself comfortable in an armchair situated quite near the Duke of Burgundy and his young brother. "She is the Aizen heir, the lovely Miss Layla Aizen."

Layla fought hard to avoid wrathfully glaring at the mocking man as he puckered his lips in her direction once everyone's eyes turned to her. She suppressed a shudder and kept her face perfectly unaffected by the action as the Duke of Burgundy stood to make his formal greeting. He bowed and she curtsied in response, but he took her hand in his, warm and strong, and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. His dark eyes met hers directly sending a flurry of emotion through her body.

"A grand pleasure to meet the only woman capable of leading such a powerful family," he commented as he straightened out. "She must certainly be an intellectual."

He had been looking at her smirking father as he said this, but she answered in his steed. "I will let you be the judge of my intellect, your grace."

He chuckled in response. "I am most interested by that notion, Miss Layla Aizen."

That had been enough on her behalf to ensnare the man's attention from the conversations being thrown in his direction by Barragan and Yamamoto. His interest lay in her and her father gave her a nod of approval when she shot him a fleeting glance. The Duke of Burgundy continued telling tales of adventures that seemed to have taken everything everyone had in them to listen through them without falling asleep, though she watched as the heirs of the Yamamoto clan were escorted out by their tutor, and Starrk rudely yawn for the fifteenth time.

By the time it was unanimously decided to leave the drawing room to prepare for the duke's celebratory ball, the blond man waited until almost everyone had left the room to approach her in private.

"Miss Layla," he called, drawing her away from the exit.

She smiled lightly, though her feet were dying inside those treacherous heels. "Yes, my lord?"

"How would you like to accompany me to tomorrow night's revelries? I would very much like to know you better."

Douglas Gray dropped a hand upon the man's shoulder with a large grin on his face. "I wouldn't bother with this lady; she turns down any gentleman that isn't the Viscount L'Isle."

"Oh?" Starrk frowned on his way past them, refusing to acknowledge the man's comment and the duke's curious gaze. "Is this true, Miss Layla?"

She ignored the man as well and smiled without suspicion and delicately answered. "Why would it be?" she questioned. "I am merely ignorant to Douglas Gray's impeccable charm." His smile wavered slightly as the duke beamed with amusement. "I would love to accompany you, if you will have me, my lord."

He kissed her hand once more before winding her arm over his. "Now, Miss Layla, would you give me the honor of giving me the grand tour of this majestic villa?"

She bowed her head. "It would be my pleasure."

As she departed arm and arm with the handsome Duke of Burgundy she turned to face Douglas Gray, who stood with his hands fisted at his sides. She shot him a victorious smile and saccharinely bid farewell, worsening his mood.

* * *

Layla returned from the gardens a flustered mess, the laughter still in her eyes, and entered her room after the Duke of Burgundy (or Constantine as he preferred she called him) left her at the front of her door with a kiss on her knuckles and another amusing reminder of their outdoor expedition. She twirled upon entering and after shutting the door behind her leaned against it as though she had awakened from a dream. Her eyes danced as she hummed one of her many piano compositions and kicked off her shoes to rest on her pounding feet and tame the adrenaline, but soon realized she was not alone in her bedroom.

The drapes were partially drawn along her mattress and a black coat and matching vest were thrown askew over the nearest armchair. There were shoes lying underneath her bed and a necktie beneath them.

With a playful smile, she strode to her bedside full of energy. She drew back the curtains and jumped onto the bed to join Starrk, who lay with an arm draped over his eyes and an unbuttoned dress shirt. She leaned forward to kiss his lips before dropping down at his side.

"He's very childish, the duke," she said with a chime.

"Do you fancy him?" he asked after a pregnant silence.

"Do you think I'll abandon you for a pretty face?" She nudged him playfully.

"You _are_ exuberant."

Layla sat up and leaned over his form. "Yes, my love, but I only fancy you." She placed a hand over his broad chest as a wicked smile drew her lips. "Now, kiss me and we will be done with it."

He smiled lightly, removing his arm from his eyes and stared directly at her. In one swift move he had her pinned onto the soft mattress as his lips pressed down against hers. And there was no doubt about her heart being a treacherous fiend as it palpitated in ardor at the feel of his mouth against hers. She could lie forever there, she often thought, besides him without a single worry or qualm in the world and she would be immeasurably happy, though her mind was cluttered with worrisome thoughts.

He belonged to her and she him.

Regardless, an inkling of doubt existed and she abhorred unpleasant notions.

The budding emotions at the pit of her stomach cruelly governed her mind. There was not a day she did not feel appeased having been left in bed alone when she needed him the most, as selfish as it sounded, or that his skin bore the scent of her perfume when she had not once approached him that afternoon. Neliel had also been acting strange whenever he was mentioned, bristled at the sight of Claire and tended to choose the chaos within the Luisenbarn compound to the comfort she had grown accustomed to with everyone. Douglas Gray had said more than a little out of line and a day ago, when she playfully mentioned one of Claire's antics about her boudoir…Starrk corrected her.

_"Her name is Robin."_

Layla blinked, shaking the thoughts from taking reign of her tumultuous emotions and lifted her gaze to Starrk's calm expression. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. His arm was wound around her small shoulders holding her strongly.

She felt childish and skittish all the same and wished that she could awaken from this myriad of lies to even a slither of truth. Whenever she established the least bit of comfort, someone would emerge to whisper a different piece of the puzzle into her ear and she would once more take three steps back in this selfish game of life to restart again.

Who was she to believe…?

Starrk twitched uncomfortably and groaned.

"Layla?" he called groggily.

"I'm here," she whispered, patting his chest in reassurance. "Is something wrong?"

He yawned as he removed his arm from around her shoulders. "My back, something's bothering me." He searched the coverlet before rubbing his back and cringing.

She sat up with a curious smile. "Maybe you were bitten by something, let me see."

He stayed perfectly still as she tugged the white dress shirt from his body and pushed aside the heavy drapes to have a better look at his sculptured back. She blinked, feeling emptiness spread from the center of her chest to the rest of her body like a void waiting to be filled with reason, and traced her fingers over the tender skin surrounding long scratches.

Starrk glanced over his shoulder to see her eyes loosing light during their fixation and the hints of a smile vanish. "Is something wrong?"

Her lips curved upward and her head swayed in response, dark auburn tresses framed her delicate face beautifully, but her eyes remained the same. A blank canvas devoid of emotion and color, they were but a dim shade of brown that had lost their vibrancy but her lips told a different story. They expressed her momentary happiness.

He felt the soft touch of her fingers on his shoulders and the feel of her cool forehead, hair lightly tickling his back. He thought her fingers had trembled for a moment and wanted to hold her, but they had not. He was imagining things. She kissed his back and wrapped her arms around his naked torso.

"I love you," she whispered as her grip tightened.

Starrk looked down to her arms and took one of her hands and kissed it while leaning into her slightly. "I love you, Layla."

"I know." She sounded breathless as she spoke and rested her chin over the curve of his shoulder. "It's scandalous."

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Layla got on her knees and pressed against him forcing him into a slouch. She kissed his cheek. "I am. It is quite pleasant."

He chuckled as he closed his eyes, discovering solace in her small arms. The light timbre of her voice continued to ring in his ears as their exchange went on throughout the rest of the evening and her heart was full, eyes luminous, and there was truth in her smile. It elated him to realize whatever bad thoughts had crossed her mind were no longer obstructing her joy because he knew she held plenty within herself. She did not speak of the past she implied he knew. He knew little, of her origins, not the details that she kept silent or the film of images that composed most of her nightmares.

Admittedly, he only knew what she presented. He adamantly believed she was a fragile woman with an insufferable temper, but above all…an innocence that could not be sullied by what he symbolized. Like himself, Layla had only seen what he allowed her to see. She understood nothing apart that and he hoped it would never come to the point where she sees the ugliness of his character.

He had others killed or tortured, whatever the job needed he could have it done and would feel no guilt. He hated his duty among the Luisenbarn Court, but as the future head of the clan he had no choice but to follow through with his grandfather's orders that were very much like a king's: _absolute._ Grimmjow or Nnoitra were better suited for the job, savagely murdering others was what they were good at, but he was chosen instead and rather than feeling arrogance…he considered it a punishment. Not on his behalf. On his parents.

His mother eloped with one of Yamamoto's nephews and he was the product of their insolence. Regrettably, his parents died early and he realized that beyond them he had nobody. Lilynette had been accepted by the Luisenbarn because she was not his father's daughter, only their mother's. His mother was forced to marry a noble to be taken back into the family and his sister was born out of duty. Once his mother was gone he was the only one standing at the crux between families. He had no choices. Neither family wanted him. He could be smarter than anyone, but it would not make a difference.

Everything occurring that day, he blamed on the past, but guilt swallowed him whole when feeling Layla's arms wrapped around him tightly to the grim reality of the mistakes he committed and the betrayal he could never weather away.

He wanted, desired, and loved her more than anything.

But he was human.

She was fragile like expensive glass in his hands.

What would happen if she shattered?

He would lose her. Forever, perhaps.

Starrk snapped out of his thoughts to the stillness surrounding them and gently took her by the arm. He pushed her back onto the mattress, hearing her lightly protest, and loomed over her, hardened gaze staring deep into her eyes. She gingerly touched his cheek and it warmed him. Her other hand brushed over his shoulder and he shuddered in elation.

He kissed her soft lips deeply and hungrily touched her warm skin with calloused hands. She let out soft, breathless sounds as he planted kisses along her neck, shoulders, and chest and she yielded to his desires.

She wanted to forget what she had seen and the raging emotions turning her stomach. She wanted to give reason to those scratches, paint a story behind them and make herself the perpetrator. She could only love him and prove it by following his expert lead. She did not want to stop him.

A voice inside his head did not call to stop him, but another did invite his guilt, remorse, and the fear of eternally tarnishing her purity. His family would win if he did.

Layla had thrown her head back as her body formed an arch, her dressed pushed up to her hip, legs folded and his body situated between them. Her thoughts had seconds prior been banished from her mind as she felt every inch of her body tingle in anticipation and fervor. Her voice was low and winded. She could barely speak, though there was no reason to do so.

In her mind, she found nothing wrong with their actions. They were in love and like any wedded couple were deepening their immeasurable affections by copulation. Except they were not married and it stood against many practices that something so serious should be done outside holy matrimony and that the mere idea of their secret affair had escalated as deep as it did was deplorable. Their actions came with consequences; she understood and mentally prepared herself to face them if something went wrong, but then and there, she had no need for reason or penalties.

She gasped as he feathered kisses along her right leg, simultaneously ridding her of her ribbon stockings, and she felt an intense heat between her thighs. His hands ran along the sleek skin of her legs to stop at her rounded hips to pull her hard against him.

He smiled crookedly at the sight of her form. Her hair lay in shambles around her head, the pins that once held it together were either scattered along the mattress or stuck to her untamed waves. The pearls wrapped snuggly around her neck glittered underneath the single stream of moonlight reaching their panting forms and contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. Her eyes were hooded and fixed to his naked torso.

Her lips parted as she wound her hands over his neck to draw him closer.

He should not.

Her kisses told him otherwise, the passions inside him stirred until he lost control.

He wavered as he struggled to not tear the clothes from her body.

The guilt, remorse, and betrayal made him stop dead in his tracks. His hand stopped over the curve of her naked back, his teeth grazing against the tenderness of her shoulder as she left open-mouthed kisses along his neck and shoulder. But she soon found a weakness he never knew existed and extorted its effect over him. She giggled childishly, but the mere sound of her voice had turned seductive. And as he fell onto the mattress with a light push of her body over his and he found it unreasonable, incomprehensible, and absolutely ridiculous to stop.

She tasted his skin, ran her hands over his sculptured physique, and felt him strong and virile beneath her. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed, the butterflies in her stomach raged, and the heat between her thighs grew unbearable. She reached for the buckle of his pants when he caught her hand.

"I'm sorry."

Layla lifted her gaze, meeting his apologetic stare, and averted it quickly. She did not want an apology.

Starrk propped himself up on his elbows and said it again. "I'm sorry, Layla."

He touched her face and jerked away, slapping his hand in the process. She saw rejection as it reared its ugly face and dismounted him. She took her clothes from besides their glistening bodies and turned away.

"Get out," she ordered audibly.

"Layla," he whispered, reaching for her again, but watched as she moved back. He moved away instead, taking his shirt and slipping both arms inside. "It should not escalate this far again."

A disgustingly pungent feeling surged through her as she bristled. "_Why?_"

It was no question, but a demand.

He stopped buttoning his shirt and looked at her. "You are pure, Layla, and I don't—"

It infuriated her. "Then get out!"

She got out of bed using her dress to cover her shame and heard Starrk following at her heel, calling her name, but she rushed straight into her boudoir. She slammed the door shut and locked it.

It proved futile holding back the tears frustration brought to her eyes as the realization continued crushing her. She held her head, eyes wide open to let them spill like fine droplets of water upon her lap.

His knuckles rasped against the door. "Layla."

Layla held her breath with a cupped hand over her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping.

_I'm overreacting._

It calmed her.

_Stop overreacting, Layla._

She wiped the tears from her eyes with the skirt of her navy blue dress.

_I have better things to do than pay attention to worthless details._

She breathed in and out.

Starrk continued knocking until he grew tired and took a seat by the door. He sighed as he leaned back, regret etched into his expression.

Layla removed her pearls and dropped them into a jewelry box. She left her gown on the dresser and pulled a pale nightgown from a drawer. She rubbed her tender shoulders, flinching as she felt something on her right. She turned her body toward the mirror and used the only bit of light to see the red bumps on her skin.

She ventured back to the doorway, slipping on her nightgown. As it brushed against her knees she opened the door and stepped back into her bedroom. She halted and looked down to find him sitting there, beside it.

She crouched down in front of him and reached for him. He instinctively wound his arms around her body and buried his face in her chest. She leaned forward to whisper to him. "Please stay."

He nodded.

Who was she to believe…when she, too, lied to herself?

He ran his thumbs over her cheeks as he held her face and placed a chaste kiss n her lips. "I love you."

She merely closed her eyes but said nothing in response.

* * *

I don't remember writing the chapter as it was written long before the endless complications arose, but reading through it once more made me feel horrible about putting Starrk and Layla in the situation they're in, not to mention their actions are either justified or slightly venturing in that direction. I do remember listening to plenty of Sia while writing these chapters and it set the mood. Ahh!

In the next chapter we follow Shinji/Roxanne so Starrk/Layla get to rest, alas, and its much longer than anticipated because its jammed packed with important details.

Thanks for reading. :D

**Next Chapter**: April 6


	30. Pursuing Danger

**Masquerade**

Chapter 30

-_**Pursuing Danger**_-

_They need to know nothing_

_They only need death_

Shinji Hirako picked up an envelope on the front steps of his home that morning and it had been obvious to him that the contents would pertain to a private dinner party being held within the next few days. His suspicions were confirmed upon tearing the envelope open inside his office with plenty witnesses. He read it over at least twice trying to find something wrong with it, but it was quite ordinary. It was like any invitation would be to an important, classy dinner party full of arrogant nobles that made petty conversation and spread useless lies.

"So?" queried Rose, leaning back into his chair.

Shinji stared at his invitation perturbed when Roxanne bolted out of the hedges.

"It's an invitation," she stated smartly.

He involuntarily jolted and slapped the note over his desk. "Go away!"

"No!" Her curious eyes wandered and one by one she greeted everyone in the room, missing only him as his orders were once more overlooked. "I heard a handful of nobles returned from their out of town trip."

"Liar," accused Shinji. He ran a hand over his blond head and sighed, exasperated knowing damn well it would be futile to get the woman to leave.

"The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge returned to their estate yesterday morning," she said matter-a-factly. Everyone in the room looked reasonably perplexed. She stared at everyone wide eyed when she received no response. "What?"

"How do you know?" asked Rose.

"Is it odd or something?"

"The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge don't make appearances after long trips until the next grand ball," answered Love. "They're the sort that keep to themselves until they need to show. It's not every day they get their peace."

"Oh."

Shinji propped his feet up over his desk and rested his hands on his chest, eyes watching her carefully. "How do you know?"

"I heard," she answered crisply. "I know a few servants and people."

His eyes narrowed. "Right."

She changed the subject rather quickly, but it never shook the suspicions from his mind. He could almost taste her lie as she uttered it. "I also heard they came back after someone tried to murder the families during their private getaway. The beneficiary took their leave—well half of them did. A lot of them were waiting for the Duke of Burgundy to make his grand entrance so a handful decided to risk another attack to greet the man."

"Shouldn't he be in France?" asked Shinji.

"Like with the French?" added Rose, purposely mocking.

"Shaddup!" he shouted, going back to glaring daggers at the gypsy. He didn't hate her people, he had a particular aversion to people that cheat, lie, and steal. Roxanne summed it up in a nutshell. He shot frustrated glances at Rose, Love, Kensei, and the other two detectives on stand in. "Why the hell aren't ya all working? The day started three hours ago!"

"Roxanne, wanna come do rounds with us?" asked Rose, leaning over the window frame.

"She stays," Shinji said suddenly, drawing everyone's attention in a flash.

A look of suspicion crossed everyone's face, but another shout from their chief sent them all out the room single file. And while he watched them, Roxanne hoisted herself onto the window and climbed inside the room. She remained seated upon the ledge, curling her fingers over it, as her legs swung back and forth.

Roxanne waited until Shinji spoke.

"Yer hiding something, aren't you?"

She looked in his direction and knowingly smiled. "Everyone has secrets, chief. I'm not the only one."

"Obviously," he stated. "I aint an idiot. Everyone's entitled to some secrecy, but aside from being a pest that knows everything you've got plenty to hide, dontcha?"

Her grin never faded as she hopped from the ledge and into the office, her orange skirt fluttered along her claves—deliberate and mischievous. She wandered about his office, picking random things up and setting them out of place. She carried a tiny marble decoration from one end of the room and set it on the windowsill. She rotated it until her lips twitched upward in approval.

"That doesn't automatically brand me as suspicious, does it?" she questioned, half turning.

Shinji rubbed his eyes, frustratingly exhausted. "Yer a tough nut to crack."

"I always thought the English language was beautiful," she said suddenly. "Every time you speak it I feel an unquenchable desire to retract my opinion."

He clucked his tongue. "She bites," he said sardonically.

"Not quite hard enough." He stared at her dumbfounded as he pulled his feet back to the ground to stand. She smiled toothily, tapped her canine with a nail. "I've got sensitive teeth, crummy deal, but it's what I have."

"Quit that!"

Her eyes grew in bewilderment. "What?"

"Just shut up and go away."

"What happened to letting me stay?" she asked, offended. "I thought we were going to have a chat, express our mutual hatreds and resentments, and get along fantastically."

Shinji took the replacement pocket watch from the top drawer and stuffed it into his pocket as he rounded his desk. He had a job pending that did not include dealing with her. He had already said what needed to be said. Roxanne was hiding something big. He normally wouldn't care about it, but it bothered him how she knew things she shouldn't. He understood the deal she had with that supposed seer, but there were certain things a complete ninny like her would not be entitled to know.

He moved past her and left his office, hearing her quick footsteps behind him.

He halted after stepping out of the building and turned to face the gypsy. Roxanne had her hands in her hair, loose strands falling in waves between her fingers. She quickly dropped her arms to her sides and stared at him awkwardly as she slid onto the adjacent street.

"Yes?" she asked, confused.

He had reconsidered his prior decision carefully throughout the night, though it was a first admitting it. He gave her a good, judging look and shifted his weight. "Ya don't plan on going to a dinner party in that garb?"

She blinked, giving her clothes a good look. "Is it a bad thing if I say yes?"

"It'd be horrible either way, come on," he said, tilting his head. "I've got a friend that's a tailor. We can help fix yer problem."

She frowned deeply upon insult. "Now, I wouldn't call it a problem."

Shinji walked on ahead, shaking his head. _I must be going crazy_. "Keep up before I decide against our date."

Her face involuntarily brightened.

* * *

Roxanne fingered the glass figures decorating the tiny drawing room. Shinji had taken a comfortable seat on a lounging chair and held a mug of warm tea between his hands, watching her roam the small room curiosity drawn by the various decorations as they waited for his raven-haired friend to reappear. It was not every day someone allowed a complete stranger to go around one's home admiring their things, completely trusting. Roxanne had been inside many luxurious homes, manors with beautifully landscaped gardens and expertly furnished rooms. She could never do much exploring during those times because it would only take a few minutes to arrive to an empty bedchamber without arousing the servants' suspicions and soon her back would be on a soft mattress.

Nobles certainly lived wonderful lives. It seemed fairly effortless for them. Men had inheritances and businesses that took little to manage with secretaries and servants. Women spent their entire lives learning conversation, making themselves pretty for future suitors, and having tea parties with fake friends. Aristocrats were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, yet they were by far the most miserable creatures she had ever seen. One can have as much influence and money as humanly possible, but is it truly worth it all?

Roxanne returned a tiny jeweled box to its place before a large mirror and took her seat beside Shinji. The blond man gave her a cutting look, leaned forward to take the other cup of aromatic tea and handed it to her.

She inhaled the scent deeply, but knew smell and taste were two different things. She moved the cup back onto her lap. "I don't drink tea."

"Drink it anyway." He took another gulp of his and watched as she tried taking a sip.

The maroon liquid warmed her lips as they parted. It was sweet tasting because of the sugar cubes Shinji dropped inside. She moved it from her mouth and stared down at it.

"It's not that bad."

"See."

She took a bigger gulp and heard the doors open behind them. She quickly placed her cup back onto its saucer on the table.

"Took you long enough." Shinji got out of his seat and turned to face his friend.

"I thought I told you to scram, I only need your girlfriend," answered the woman.

"Stop callin' 'er that, idiot."

Roxanne bolted out of her seat to face the bespectacled woman setting down a chest and a corset onto a round table. She wore her hair braided and pinned tightly and dressed in a moss gray riding habit.

She gave Roxanne a long stare, looked her up and down as she blatantly ignored Shinji's comment before she regarded her old friend. "Where'd you find this one?"

"Plaza."

"And you want me to dress her."

"I'm paying ya a good amount, so keep yer complaints to yerself."

Roxanne's head snapped toward him, perplexed. "W-wait—you're paying?"

"We're going together, remember, I can't have ya to a dinner party looking like—" He stopped himself quickly and rubbed the back of his head as he averted his gaze. "Consider it an apology."

She brightened. "I've never worn a dress like that before."

"You'll probably look better than all the women out there." The tailor shook her head. "Some people don't know how to wear a dress."

"An' I take it you'll teach her, Lisa?"

Lisa huffed. "Obviously."

Shinji laughed rancorously as he stepped toward the door and opened it. "I have something to do; I'll come back in a couple hours."

"Don't come back unless you have my money," said Lisa scathingly.

"Yeah, yeah."

The door slammed shut behind him.

"Your name?" asked Lisa as she pushed open the chest and drawing items from inside.

"Roxanne Harmon."

A pair of scissor clattered from the table onto the ground. Roxanne lifted her gaze in time to see a strange expression cross the woman's features before she composed herself.

"I'm Lisa Yadomaru," she said quickly. She picked her scissors from the ground and took some things for her to look at. "You're in safe hands, Roxanne."

She nodded.

* * *

It took an hour to finish scribbling all of Roxanne's measurements and placing various colors against her skin to find the right shade to dress her in until they settled on a moss green. For the past hour she had too much fun trying out different unfinished gowns and running around a room covered in mirrors twirling with excitement, until Lisa decided to fasten a corset around her waist, put her in an itchy camisole, and high stockings. It was her first experience with corsets and as she muttered obscenities beneath her breath trying to grow accustomed to the constriction, she wondered how women _anywhere_ dealt with them. She found herself short of breath as Lisa begun working with her measurements to create the image she envisioned.

"It's a dinner party, right?"

Roxanne's face twisted in pain as she pivoted with both hands over her corseted waist. "Yes."

"_Sexy _dinner party?" Lisa's eyebrows rose as she continued scribbling in a large notebook.

"Uhmm. I don't know."

"Hmmm, it wouldn't hurt to give you a corseted top with a flowing skirt," she mused. "You could definitely pull it off." She nodded and looked back to her. "Have you ever worn heels?"

Roxanne blinked. "No."

Lisa kicked off hers and watched them roll over the rug. "We should be around the same size, if not," she shrugged at this without addressing it again. "Start practicing."

"Okay."

"You're not going to like it."

Roxanne fought the urge to scoff. "You don't know that."

"I know."

* * *

Lisa knew, all right.

Roxanne limped the rest of the way home with Shinji's help and understood she would be returning to Lisa's home for lessons for the next two days as the woman had taken a vacation from running her shop and hired a stand in. She had time to kill and Shinji paid her a hefty amount of money for helping him. The dress would be done before the dinner party and Roxanne eagerly awaited the day.

Hisana sat by the center stone fountain waiting for her arrival early that evening. Beyond her, Rangiku was making flower crowns with Rye. Everything within the caravan was normal except her late arrival.

The young girl hopped onto her feet and faced her. "You don't plan to go to that party, do you?"

"No," she lied. "It would be a stupid idea, you said it yourself."

"That doesn't mean you won't do it, Roxanne. I know you."

Roxanne patted Hisana's head on her way past. "I'm not stupid enough to walk into the belly of the beast."

She hated worrying the girl, but she would eternally hate herself if she didn't partake in the ruining of Layla's perfect life. Maybe she could help with the demise?

The mere thought brought a smile to her face.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

**Fourth Family Private Dinner Party**

Lisa stared at Roxanne in scrutiny while ignoring Shinji's complaints pertaining to his newly tailored jacket. The bespectacled woman twirled her finger and the young gypsy turned to show the flowing backside of her moss green gown. It was a fairly simple gown in its maker's eyes, but the young woman wore it particularly well making it far from plain.

She clapped her hands. "It's perfect."

"She looks like a…" Shinji appeared at Lisa's side with his fingers curled under his chin, eyes narrowing as Roxanne turned to face them directly.

Lisa lifted her gaze to the blond chief. "…a good time?"

Shinji looked to her suspiciously. "You never stop, do you?"

"You must be a blind fool to not see a thing."

"What are you whispering about?" questioned the girl.

"Nothing."

"You."

Their voices overlapped and eyes snapped to each other, his a sharp glare, hers a fleeting, mischievous look.

Shinji shot a glance toward the clock in the room and frowned. "We better get going. At this rate we'll be late and it aint a short trip."

"We're not walking, are we? Because I refuse," stated Roxanne, keeping the pain of her feet in mind.

He picked up her coat from the couch and tossed it at her. "How dumb are you?"

"There's a carriage waiting outside," said Lisa. "You may be acquainted with the coachman, I believe."

"Who is it?" queried Shinji.

"Go see."

Roxanne sped out of the drawing room, waving her hand frantically in farewell while simultaneously thanking the woman for having created such a beautiful gown for her to wear that evening.

Shinji grumbled beneath his breath as he started toward the closing doors.

"Shinji."

He halted and turned. "What?"

"This isn't a normal dinner party, is it?"

"That's private."

Lisa's eyes narrowed as she languorously cross her arms over her chest. "She gets hurt and you'll get it."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Ya can't be serious?"

"I'm serious, Shinji. You take care of that girl like she was your mother."

"My mother?" he mouthed, bothered.

"Like she was your mother," she repeated critically.

Shinji stepped out the doors without another word and met Roxanne in front of the house where Rose waited for his arrival.

"Are you treating this as an undercover thing?" she asked dubiously.

"It needs t be done," Shinji stated, pulling open the carriage door hastily. "Get in."

Roxanne laughed excitedly and rushed into the carriage to feel Shinji's hand beneath hers guiding her inside. She turned upon contact, but he was exchanging gestures with their _coach_ and her head hit the ceiling hard.

"Ow!"

"Watch yer head, Roxanne," he said causally noting her blunder.

"Shut up!" she cried, rubbing the top of her head as she took a seat.

Shinji joined her inside and shut the door, knocking against the wall to signal Rose to start, and they were off.

Roxanne stared out the window throughout the entire ride until they managed to strike up a conversation.

"I take it Lisa taught you manners, too."

"I have manners," she answered.

"Ya better use them," he warned. "Yer gonna be a governess for the night."

"What's a governess?"

His face connected with his hand as he groaned disconcerted. "A governess is an educator that teaches language, music, art, and poetry to children within a household."

The occupation sounded difficult. "What if they test me and I get the answers wrong?"

"You can speak German, no?"

"Yes," she answered with a nod.

"Any instrument?"

"I dance, _only_."

This posed a problem. "Do you know how to waltz?"

"It's a dinner party. Why do I need to waltz?"

"So you can?"

"No."

"You're useless," he breathed, leaning back defeated.

"Wait," she said suddenly, ignoring his insult. "Aren't governess those dreadful women that are old and never get married?"

"So you know who they are?"

Her expression turned troubled. "I can't pass for a governess."

"Why the hell not?"

"By societies standards I'm not old enough to have a job."

"Wait." His eyes widened slightly. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

There was a long silence as he digested the mere thought.

"What the fuck Roxanne?"

He nearly jumped out of his seat, scarcely missing the ceiling when the carriage started for a bumpier road.

"I thought you knew."

"I knew you were a brat, but not literally, fuck." He settled back into his seat and started shaking his head. "Shit. We need to think of something better to tell 'em."

She nodded in response.

* * *

Roxanne Harmon was simply introduced as Shinji Hirako's fiancée and although they shouted at the top of each other's lungs to null the mere idea, Rose had suggested the only plausible explanation for an unknown woman to be in attendance and have an invitation was to enter as a couple. They had no choice and settled their coach's suggestion the second they stepped into Sir Wallace Tallis' grand manor. Everyone within the manor recognized him straight away, greeting him mockingly as the chief of the Scotland Yard and expressing their utter delight of his attendance. When regarding the young woman on his arm, he noted how the men eagerly warmed up to her and treated her like an exotic rose. Not a single pure thought crossed their minds and for whatever reason, it bothered him.

_She's just a stupid kid_, but as she had taken up Lord Wedgeworth's offer to be escorted into the dining room while he finished his conversation with the host of the private gathering about uninteresting nonsense, he noticed an effervescent quality about her. She allowed the older gentleman to guide her up a few steps onto elevated ground with eloquence and spoke as though she belong in the same society.

_Stupid brat_.

"I do hope you aren't in attendance to accuse us of those bodies you found," stated Sir Tallis in an arrogant tone. "We assembled to end the tyrannical reign of the families, not eliminate them."

He smirked in response while staring at the man running his fingers over his large mustache and to his young wife holding his arm with an affectionate expression…directed at him. _Ugh_. The smile turned into a frown as he looked back to Sir Tallis.

"Nah, I would need proof to make accusations," he said, patting the man's rigid shoulder. "Thanks for inviting me, though."

"Yes, of course," he uttered disconcertedly.

"Your betrothed is quite stunning," Madam Tallis said lightly, turning her head to see the girl in question. "I had no idea you had a woman."

"I'm a secretive man."

That simple comment made her lips twitch upward. "She is quite exotic looking, is she not, dear?"

Sir Tallis had his eyes fixed on Roxanne's bosom when she was at his side and now searched the crowed in the other room for her to see her chatting with a few other women. "Where is she from?"

Shinji merely smiled and bowed his head. "Excuse me."

He joined Roxanne up the short staircase and pulled her from a crowd by whispering into her ear. Her face flushed as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her towards the lesser populated side of the room.

She slapped his arm, making it seem playful to their spectators with a large smile on her face.

"Don't do that!"

Her tone was low and harsh.

"Where'd ya learn to act like that?"

"I despise nobles for a living, _dear_. It would be childish if I didn't have a perfectly good reason why."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense, idiot." She nudged him painfully as a couple approached them. "Act casual, someone's coming."

"Shaddup, I know."

She slinked her arm over his and moved closer to make them seem intimate as they greeted the couple that approached them with warm smiles.

* * *

Everything said about the dinner party had been exactly how it progressed. It was a gathering of arrogant nobles making petty chitchat over lies and speaking ill of the Three Families. He certainly enjoyed expressing his own opinions of Sōsuke Aizen, that two-faced bastard, and unsurprisingly Roxanne had plenty to say about his youngest daughter…until she said too much.

"He's had plenty affairs, has he not?" a man commented stringently.

"Women of esteemed background mostly, until the countess."

"He was rumored to be a vagrant before marrying into nobility."

"A vagrant is a vagrant regardless of title."

"But an archduchess and duchess?" another man said, perplexed. "How is this man so—"

"Don't forget the gypsy," blurted Roxanne as she took another gulp of her tasteful wine.

Shinji had already tried taking that wineglass from her iron grip, but she kept asking him to lighten up and let her enjoy the evening.

His head snapped to her, eyes wide with confusion and voices quickly overlapped with various questions. He could hardly tell one from the other, but Roxanne went on with her blunder, unable to stop the word vomit.

"His daughters that are supposedly twins are born five months apart, different mothers. Layla's the older one in actuality and her mum's a gypsy and she acts all high and mighty, too." She barked out a laugh. "Best kept secret in all London, aint it? And it's more believable when her mom's not important."

It was nearly impossible for Shinji to get through pulling Roxanne from the conversation as everyone jumped onto the topic like ravenous beasts. She went on spouting nonsense until she started speaking incoherently and he stood up to excuse them from the table.

Madam Tallis offered to escort them to a room where he could lay his fiancée to rest. He waited until they were out of the crowded room before he grabbed her and swung her over his shoulder.

"I find this quite inappropriate, love," Roxanne slurred.

"You have no say in this, _darling_." Shinji looked to Madam Tallis. "Excuse her, she's a lightweight. She spouts a lot of nonsense, too."

"Yes, of course," she chimed as she came to a stop in front of an empty room. She held the door open as he stepped inside with his protesting companion.

Shinji pulled her from his shoulder and dropped her onto the mattress.

"Ow," she groaned as she fumbled around the bed until she found a comfortable place and let her face drop over it with a whine.

"Is what she said true, chief?"

He shook his head as he watched her squirm. "No." He looked back to the woman. "But she would do whatever possible to ruin Layla's reputation."

"Oh." She smiled. "I see."

He stood at the foot of the bed after Madam Tallis excused herself. He stared at the unconscious Roxanne.

"Idiot."

* * *

Shinji rejoined the gathering and stayed to drink and converse. Roxanne's blunder had become a hot topic and he was instantly bombarded with questions. (_Why do you suppose he would do that? Has he no shame? Is it the truth?_) He circumvented all inquiries as best as he could without raising suspicions, but people felt he had been lying the entire time. He himself wouldn't be too sure if it was the truth, but he could immediately assume it was considering her record with knowing things she didn't need to know.

It made sense. In comparison to Sun-Sun, Layla did not resemble Fallon in the least. She looked like her stupid father.

Shinji huffed as he took another swig of his wine. He could hear hushed voices behind him as he spoke to the lord of the household, who seemed to be the only one pestering for answers to the questions floating about his large head.

"…_delivered the book to us._"

"_Book?_"

"_…the Book of Death._"

Shinji turned toward the group of men, seeing Lord Statem speaking to Lord Wedgeworth and a few others whose names he had forgotten.

_So it does exist._

The moment they noticed him watching, they quieted down and dispersed along the room. It was enough to be suspicious about. That was all he needed to acquire, Rose would have the rest.

"Fourth Family, is that what this is called?" Shinji questioned as he regarded Sir Tallis. "Does that mean yer gonna be causing trouble later, too?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "We are only trying to stop their actions. I think everyone has had enough of them reigning over our Queen's decision. I think it's crass that she is threatened by their influence enough to bend to every one of their whims. If they asked for the throne it might very well be possible—"

Shinji raised a hand, eyebrows furrowed. "Wait. Are ya saying the Queen planned this?"

"Well, of course, what other reason would we have to rebel against them to strip them of their influence." Sir Tallis huffed. "Many governments have begun complaining, but nobody has been brave enough to take a chance. It's why we've asked you to participate in this. You have been investigating the families since you've become the chief—five years, was it?" Shinji nodded dumbly, processing the information. "You would know much more of them than we would." He grabbed him by the arm and stared at him firmly. "We can trust you, can't we chief?"

Interested, the blond nodded in affirmation. "Absolutely. I am entitled to do whatever I can for the Queen's honor."

They raised their wineglasses and clanked them together.

* * *

Shinji carried Roxanne to his home, knowing unnecessary questions awaited him at her caravan's site, and dropped her into the nearest couch with his jacket serving as a makeshift blanket. He, too, had been drunken under the table by those loquacious nobles that he dismissed Rose before he could enlighten him with the information he gathered while roaming around the manor covertly. He could barely have a coherent conversation himself and his mind was clouded by drunken haze that all he could think of saying was _Book of Death_. Rose only nodded in agreement after making sure he made it into his home without dropping Roxanne, who he adamantly refused to hand over.

Once Rose left, Shinji made it halfway up the stairs before he took a seat, leaning against the railing and closed his eyes for a second. The world was spinning and shit was it crazy.

* * *

"What happened to Roxanne?" asked Rose.

Shinji held his pounding head as he gulped down another glass of water. "Sleeping in my bedroom."

Rose's mouth dropped immediately. "Don't—"

"I took her upstairs this morning, idiot," he stated quickly, cringing. "Shit." He finished the rest of the water. "So what did you find out last night?" As his partner prepared to speak, he lifted a hand to interrupt him once more. "Tell me you were in earshot when the politician and Lord Statem were talking about—"

"—the Book of Death?" interrupted Rose smartly.

Shinji's spirits rose. For whatever reason he started treating the dinner party as a useless experience that did not help further even a portion of their investigation.

Robert Tallis had definitely been lying about the murders. If the Book of Death had been mentioned among such prolific members of the Fourth Family it was obvious they were to blame.

"What'd ya hear?" he asked, leaning back into comfort.

"The Book of Death is in their possession. It wasn't clear who originally created it, but the origins of the Fourth Family are as Sir Tallis explained them to be," Rose started critically. "It is the Queen's way of threatening them into retracting their holds on the crown."

"Why not immobilize the army and make it public? The Three Families are anything but stupid. Do you think they don't know?" His tone turned harsh as he massaged his temples and contemplated the new additions to the playing board. "If killing their beneficiary is supposed to send them a daunting message, it aint workin', and when it starts proving useless is she gonna order them to eliminate the members themselves."

"Eradicating the Three Families solves the problem," answered Rose. "If the first generation has caused this much trouble, imagine how things will be twenty years from now?"

"If Aizen aint dead by then, it'll be a nightmare," scoffed Shinji. "I don't even wanna know if that creepy son of his is the successor. It'd go a lot worse for England."

His companion shook his head. "Killing the members would be an ultimatum. It's been three months since the murders started and over fifteen dead. Aizen, Luisenbarn, and Yamamoto went on a vacation together."

"They're probably hangin' out in their patio, drinking pinot noir while listening to the country's best orchestra."

"That's quite perceptive, chief."

"Shaddup!" he shouted. "I'm serious, though. They're not scared. Are they gonna start killin' 'em?"

"It wouldn't be a problem."

Shinji sat up. "There is a problem."

Rose's eyebrows rose in concern. "Oh?"

"I respect the Queen's decision to create a Fourth Family to put a strain in their questionable objectives, but I have morals." Shinji held his hands over his knees. "I may know they're up to no good, but we have nothing aside words that incriminate them." He sighed deeply. "Their influence is spread throughout the entire world, try as you will you need every government combined to put them out."

His companion sunk into the nearest armchair and brushed back his messy bangs. "What are you planning?"

"I want that book. I want to know who has it."

"Do you think it'll be worth the consequences, Hirako?"

"It damn well better be," he stated.

"I don't believe the risk is worth it. You are going against the Queen for your morals, Shinji, it's no ordinary feat."

Shinji nodded.

Rose sighed deeply. "You still plan on getting it?"

"Yep, so ya better tell me who has it before I fire you."

"Wedgeworth."

And that would be enough.

* * *

Roxanne overheard the chief and his partner's conversation the morning after the dinner party. She feigned ignorance once departing and found a way to involve herself into the tumultuous situation to find answers. It seemed redundant for her to leave everything as it was and not pursue it further. She didn't understand the chief's objectives or his reason for doing what he planned for the following days.

Rye warned her of the dangerous in the world religiously, henceforth, joining Hisana's posse of worrywarts. She continued sneaking off in the middle of the night, disregarding warnings, and heard an influx of rumors concerning the famous chief of the Scotland Yard.

Apparently he had information on the successor of each family and it stirred quite a commotion within London, some claimed it went beyond the busy streets onto various booming cities bordering it. And during that time she heard of the Fourth Family's private manor and made room to stalk Lord Wedgeworth through a forest path leading up to said grandeur home.

It had no servants and it was primarily unoccupied. Wedgeworth spent four to five hours inside, shuffling through papers, rummaging through drawers, and flipping through a book with an arrogant smirk.

When he left, Roxanna snuck inside and searched every nook and cranny for something of importance. She found nothing but business papers that made no sense to her before she started searching for the book Wedgeworth leafed through.

It was nowhere to be found.

Roxanne slumped into a comfortable chair and sighed exasperatedly. She bent over her knees holding her head in contemplation as her heart raced.

"What the hell am I doing?" she whispered. "_What am I doing?_"

* * *

Roxanne appeared at Shinji's doorstep a day after following Wedgeworth to the Fourth Family's private manor and caught him casually dressed on his way out.

Her fingers wrinkled the cloth of her skirt as bright green orbs watched him step in front of her.

"Where are you going?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and averted his gaze. "None of yer business," he stated. "What the hell are ya doing here anyway?"

She fidgeted as she dropped her skirt back to its actual length.

"I came to tell you of Wedgeworth and the Fourth Family."

"I'm meeting with Wedgeworth this afternoon," he said as he took a step away from her. "If ya got something to say, do it now."

Roxanne moved backward, turning as he did.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"That's my business." He flapped his hand dismissively. "So get going if ya aint got something interesting to say."

She was suddenly tongue tied and struggling to get even a hint of a word out.

Shinji merely returned to her side and patted her shoulder, leaving his hand in place. "Go home and sit tight, idiot. It's just business."

She glowered, feeling a strange churn in her stomach. He stared at her awkwardly as he retracted his hand from her shoulder and then forced a smile.

"Have fun, chief."

"Yeah, thanks."

He started off down the street and she stepped forward.

"Chief!" she called.

He halted. "Yeah?" he asked, turning his head.

"Is it true you know who the heirs are?"

Shinji shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way.

Roxanne waited patiently for him to turn the corner when she had an insatiable urge to pursue him. She almost knew he would be spending time in Wedgeworth's private home and followed him along the crowded London streets.

Shinji met Wedgeworth in the park, they chatted inconspicuously and then both climbed into the same carriage. At that moment, Roxanne rushed to the site. She sped past her shouting brother and took various shortcuts toward the sylvan.

* * *

Roxanne arrived to the heavily guarded manor to see the same carriage sitting before the stone staircase leading up to the oak doors. She stayed hidden behind large trees as she surrounded the perimeter with watchful eyes. She looked through windows to see more guards, but as the men guarding the back entrance started moving out of sight, attentions focused elsewhere, she waited. Crouched down by the cherry bushes she stayed until they moved further from her field of vision to sprint toward the backdoor.

She hid by the door and turned the knob. She peaked inside, looked down both corridors and took the emptier one. She hazily recalled the way to the drawing room, where she remembered Wedgeworth seated with a book in his hands and an arrogant smile on his face.

She managed to arrive at the drawing room without being noticed and looked through an aperture in the door at the four individuals gathered inside. Everyone had their back to her except Shinji who was facing Wedgeworth and two large, burly men in dark suits. While everyone faced away from her, she took the opportunity to sneak inside.

Shinji noticed her straight away, eyes going slightly wide, but his focus remained on the conversation at hand. Roxanne padded to the nearest couch and crouched down behind it.

She ducked as the guards looked her way and smiled as her heart raced.

"You were invited here for a reason, Chief Hirako. The Fourth Family wanted no involvement with the Scotland Yard, but it was nearly impossible for us to further our plans without you joining our ranks."

"I'm flattered," Shinji stated, his eyes wandering about the room. "Never thought I was that important though."

Wedgeworth, tall with dark graying hair, swirled the wine in his glass as he heartedly chuckled. He paced the room, keeping a watchful eye on his guest, and leaned into the nearest chair. "Of course, you're important. Among previous chiefs, you're the most famous—only twenty when you acquired the position, no?"

Shinji nodded absently, following Roxanne's movements around the room.

Wedgeworth continued praising him until he grew annoyed. "Exactly, why'd ya ask me to come here?"

The older gentleman chortled amusedly. "Yes, yes, of course," he stated, moving toward the desk where she had ducked and held her head with both hands. Wedgeworth set his wineglass atop three stacked books and reached into his waistcoat where he drew a bound black book. "The Three Families are a clandestine sort that isn't particularly willing to allow the public to indulge in their inner workings. It makes knowledge of them desirable. The Fourth Family takes pride in investigating the three and knowing more than everyone else."

He clucked his tongue and leaned over the desk as his frightening guards started looming around the area.

Roxanne quietly slid betwixt the narrow space from the armchair and desk and underneath it. She held her skirt over her legs to keep the colorful fabric from catching anyone's attention.

"We, of the Fourth Family, have done everything in our power to uncover the families' biggest secret," continued Wedgeworth, regarding the chief.

"The second generation," answered Shinji carelessly. "They certainly are important."

"Eliminating the heirs can obstruct their growth," said Wedgeworth deathly serious. "Unfortunately, the only member of the beneficiary in our ranks has failed to relay the information on time. Their vacation seems to have become a formal presentation to the second generation. We opt to end them before they return to make a public arrangement."

Roxanne quieted her breath as her heart raced wildly in trepidation and heard as their footsteps ventured further away from the desk. She slipped out once more, hearing the floorboards creak silently beneath the shift of her weight and ran her fingers over the surface of the massive desk. She peeked out. The guards had been excused to the short hallway leading out to the entrance and the owner of the building had his back to her.

Shinji mouthed something to her. Something insulting, she took it.

She waved a hand and straightened out upon ensuring her safety. Her curious eyes scanned the desk for anything of interest. There was a valuable looking pocket watch sitting in the edge of the desk, but her gaze went straight to a black book tied together by a leather string.

Shinji gestured for her to get down as Wedgeworth turned on his heel. He missed her by a hair.

Following him proved to be a stupid idea after all. It was too late now.

"So tell me, chief," said Wedgeworth, "who are the family heirs?"

Szayel of the Aizen clan. Grimmjow from the Luisenbarn clan. Ukitake from the Yamamoto clan.

Those were the three names he uttered and as Wedgeworth turned his back to her direction, Roxanne stood once more. Shinji offhandedly pointed to the bound book and made a reading gesture while mouthing off instructions. _Read_.

"They must be killed, did you hear that Ramon?"

"Yes sir. Right away sir."

"Send as many assassins as possible to hunt these men down."

"Yes sir."

She took it into her hands and tucked it into the belt of her skirt. She figured it was more valuable than it seemed after having seen the man read through it beforehand. She wanted it for herself and understood that even though that had driven her to take it from its place…Shinji stayed with it as evidence.

That's when Wedgeworth turned, eyes wide. He sent a cutting look to Shinji and his face started turning a bright red. Quickly, Roxanne pushed open the nearest windows and scrambled out, hearing footsteps behind her and a hurdle of insults thrown in their direction.

"They have taken the Book of Death!"

Roxanne's peripherals blurred with various passing images and her ears rung with the sounds of screaming. She instantly dreaded the sudden turn of events and heard Shinji's voice hollering behind her.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I never think!" she answered breathlessly.

Shots were heard behind them as they ran straight into the sylvan, losing themselves within clutters of trees and looming branches. Roxanne held to the treasure hidden in her skirt.

She feared either one of them getting caught by those barbarians. Her terror showed in her expression clearly as she slipped under a flank of looming branches, tripping over protruding roots. The book fell from her possession to a few inches in front of her. She attempted grabbing it when Shinji hushed her with his hand at the base of her back, pushing her to soft soil gently.

A strong wind startled and alerted their senses following the rush of steps snapping old twigs and forcing through the once peaceful setting full of ill intent.

"Which way did they go?" a voice boomed overhead, shaking the leaves above.

Shinji positioned himself in front of her as she stubbornly continued to reach for the book. He turned to glare at her, nudging her to keep the movement to a minimum. The looming branches provided enough protection, but if she continued moving around, it would eventually arouse suspicion.

Her fingertips brushed against the cover and inwardly she regretted her involvement. She thought of how idiotic it seemed to put herself in so much danger and ultimately regretted the entire experience.

Hisana's warning started making sense now. She would face many dangers getting involve in these affairs.

* * *

Roxanne wasn't sure how much time they spend hidden underneath the clutter of trees, but once the sounds quieted down and Shinji ensured their safety the sky had already grown dark. Using the evening glow to guide them, Roxanne took the chief by the hand and led him out.

He kept the Book of Death, as he called it, inside his coat.

Neither one of them spoke unless strictly necessary and when they arrived to an overpopulated street, he grabbed her by the arm and led her to Lisa's home where both reached a silent agreement to allow they young gypsy to stay in her residence until everything calmed. Roxanne watched as Shinji disappeared into a crowd as Lisa ushered her into her home, looking in both directions.

Lisa prepared a bath, clothed, and fed her. She invited her to evening tea as she finished a few adjustments to an order of dresses she needed done by the end of next week. Roxanne sat on the ground with her legs drawn up, gauze covering her feet as they were covered in cuts and scrapes from having rushed through the forest barefoot. She held a cup of warm tea to her lips, inhaling the sweet scent in search of relaxation.

"Does trouble follow you or do you pursue it?"

Roxanne lifted her gaze to the calm woman pinching fabric with a needle. "Huh?"

"Do you pursue danger?" she repeated.

She smiled sheepishly in response.

"You remind me of Jaelle."

Her eyes widened at her mother's idle mention. "How do you know my mother?"

* * *

Shinji rounded his home in the middle of the night to affirm his qualms. There were many suspicious-looking men prowling the entire street. Even stepping into the Scotland Yard building proved a nuisance as the day came to its conclusion. He paid a visit to Rose's home that night and relayed the information to him, but forgot to mention the Book of Death. By the time he arrived to his friend's home, he was too exhausted to think straight.

He had a shot of whisky and took his leave to the guest room. He slept like a log that night.

* * *

Everything was seemingly normal for the following two days, but once he entered his office on the third day he found Wedgeworth and another politician at his side holding a letter in his hands.

The older gentleman did not bother speaking to him.

"What do ya need?"

The unknown man placed the letter in front of him. "Enjoy the repercussions, _chief._"

Shinji scoffed as Wedgeworth and his acquaintance sped past him and slammed the door. He stared at the letter, turning it over to the blood red seal keeping it closed.

"Shit."

He already knew it was a direct message from the Queen. He recognized that seal anywhere.

Shinji ripped through the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. He read through the short letter quickly. It was self-explanatory. There was no need for him to retain his position after what he had done against the Fourth Family so he had been politely and formally removed…_permanently_.

His replacement would be someone within the Scotland Yard that met all requirements.

"Rose!" he called.

"Excuse me." Rose walked inside with a solemn expression. "Did something happen?"

"Yer taking my place as chief."

"What?" he questioned, baffled.

"Ya heard me, yer the new chief."

"You're quitting?"

Shinji grabbed a few things from his desk and handed the letter to him to read.

Rose lifted his face in complete utter shock after skimming through the short statement. "You were removed."

Shinji smiled crookedly and patted the man's shoulder on his way out. He said nothing else, only bid farewell to everyone in his department. Questions were asked, many actually, but he kept his answers.

The Fourth Family played dirty. So, call him vindictive, but they had another thing coming for making an enemy out of him.

* * *

I apologize if the chapter seems choppy as I needed to put all this information in one chapter and had to cut out a significant amount to keep it from becoming wordy. I enjoy writing Roxanne/Shinji...they are...amusing and a bit uplifting for everything that's been going on, but they have their own troubles too. I suddenly feel horrible about Shinji's situation.

The following two chapters mark the end of the Vinnlake Hall trip for one of our characters. I've grown scared of Layla after writing the chapters out.

Thank you for reading. :)

**Next Update**: April 8


	31. Shattered Glass

**Masquerade**

Chapter 31

-_**Shattered Glass**_-

_All this time I wish_

_That when you came across temptation_

_You might have remembered her smile_

_And returned to it_

_For it had never been the same,_

_Not anymore._

Layla twirled the cornflower blue umbrella shading her from the heavy sunrays during her afternoon stroll with Constantine Gervais, the Duke of Burgundy. She held the skirt of her dress as they stepped over the bumpy terrain of a forest path and he had his hand beneath hers offering support. As they slid underneath the shade of the sturdy oak trees aligning the path, various spectators strolled away from the gargantuan windows unable to stand the sweetness of their newly established relationship. Barragan Luisenbarn had been especially livid about their development, ranting on and on during the revelries that took place two days ago. Yamamoto thought it redundant to participate in a battle that had already been lost during an intense game of chess against her father.

The Duke of Burgundy had been charmed with the effervescence she displayed and he made room between business conversations to spend time with her. They took walks through the garden, spoke about various things, and had a silent agreement to attend gatherings together. He provoked many potentially dangerous laughing fits out of her over the silliest things.

In a world where everyone lied, she found it quite easy to find joy in the moments such as those. She came to enjoy the time she spent with the duke.

"I hear you play piano," said Constantine, watching as she leaned over the thick trunk of a slanted tree. "Quite wonderfully, too."

"It is a simple pastime, your grace," she answered, "I would not say I am any good."

Constantine smiled widely. "Allow me to be the judge of that, Miss Layla."

She returned the smile, a light twitch of her pink stained lips. "I will look forward to your critique as I heard you are a connoisseur of good music."

He pushed his messy blond curls back as he hiked up to join her on the slope. "We have certainly heard much of each other, have we not?"

"Yes, we have."

"We must strive to learn better of one another, do you not agree?"

She twirled the umbrella as she lowered it, watching it spin and blur the surroundings in her vision. "Yes, your grace, I would very much enjoy having a proper introduction with you."

* * *

Layla returned to her bedchambers exhausted, but content after returning from a thrilling rush through the surrounding forests. Dirt stained the bottom of her skirt and boots and muddied footprints followed her to the doorway until Will ordered she remove them before sacrificing the export rug said to measure up to a few hundred thousand pounds. She handed the muddied shoes to him and watched him walk down the corridor, ordering one of the wandering servants to clean the prints left behind.

She shut the doors and ventured into her boudoir to change out of her filthy gown. She reached back to untie the ribbons holding the bodice together and lifted her gaze to the small chandelier hanging in the ceiling, The sunlight coming in through the small window made the crystals sparkle iridescently.

She stepped out into her bedroom after drawing a soft robe shut and looked around the room. She hadn't seen Starrk since last night after having yet another argument she regretted the second she threw him out of her bedroom. She wondered if it was her place to apologize. Since the Duke of Burgundy arrived into her care, she noted an abrupt change in his demeanor, not that he hadn't already been acting strange.

He wasn't sleeping the fifteen hours he usually did. He had dark circles under his eyes, walked about the corridors rather sloppily, talked with a bit of a slur, and looked all around sleep deprived but she could do nothing to aid his cause. She figured the accumulation of sleep deprivation made him a bit irritant and their personalities clashed…_a lot._

She had taken breakfast with her family that morning because Constantine agreed to accompany them if she wished it. Seeing as her father had been staring at her while the duke awaited a response, she asked him to stay. That morning was the first time she had to force the food down and eat the same fare. She had grown used to the fruit salads and the warm oatmeal she had every cold morning with sprinkled cinnamon. She did drink the aromatic tea, no problem. It was the only part of breakfast she did enjoy as everyone had fake smiles and exchanged petty, boring conversation she struggled to partake in with Szayel's constant refutes.

Layla stopped in front of the round table and picked a book from a stack. She took a seat in the nearest chair and leaned back until she was slump over it with it opened. Because of her current meetings with the Duke of Burgundy she had taken a few days off studying, but she would not be meeting Constantine during the following days since her schedule accumulated over time spent. She had the rest of the afternoon to enjoy.

The words started blurring as she grew weary in the seat's comfort.

* * *

Starrk yawned, holding a gloved hand to his mouth as he held a book in front of his face and Lilynette sitting in front of a desk swinging her legs back and forth beneath her chair wearing a bored, disconcerted expression. Her cold had gone away two days ago and she managed to circumvent all of her studies because Starrk had been too busy fooling around to do his job right.

"Well," he gestured with the book in his hand and she gave him a pained look, "are you translating it any time soon?"

She frowned. "I hate Italian."

"I hate French, but I can still speak it."

"Your French sucks," she stated and his eyes narrowed in response. "What? It does. You pronounce like a walrus in heat."

Starrk snapped his book shut. "This is why you'll grow up an old maid." He dropped it onto the table in front of her and headed straight to the door.

Lilynette bolted out of her seat. "It's not like I want to be married or anything."

Starrk stopped at the door, staring at her straightly. "I hope you enjoy being society's laughing stock." He slammed the door shut before her heel made contact with his face.

"Shut up!" he heard her muffled shout behind closed doors and smirked as he headed down the hall.

Ulquiorra and Neliel passed him by and he noticed she stopped glaring at him everywhere he went, but the tension remained. He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and continued when he heard Nel call to him.

He halted and turned slightly to see her saying something to Ulquiorra before meeting with him halfway. Starrk pivoted as she appeared at his side and they walked alongside one another in silence.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea," she said suddenly. "I'm still so angry I could wring your neck, but we can't work together unless we reach any sort of agreement. I heard about the plans."

Starrk turned to her. "Are you participating?"

"Yes."

He felt a need to hunt his grandfather down and force Nel out of their next set of plans. He never meant to belittle the woman, she was as strong as any member in the Luisenbarn family, but they knew very little of the Fourth Family to put her in danger was out of the question.

Regrettably, he could say nothing against her decision.

"Let's make an agreement."

She sighed. "I will ignore your shamelessness when we have duties to carry out," she stated seriously. She shook her head and lowered her voice. "I just don't understand, Starrk."

He did.

He nodded slightly. "You don't need to."

"How can you sleep at night?" she queried exasperatedly. Her eyebrows were furrowed and lips upturn into a solid frown. "She is kind, Starrk. She is absolutely lovely. Have you grown tired of her that you needed to return to Robin Talbot?"

"Nel, do not make an issue of this," he said laxly.

He hated speaking and thinking about it.

"How can you be so calm about it? Do you not care about her?"

"Don't say that." He stopped forcing her to a halt and scratched the back of his head. "I love her."

Nel lost to her necessity to slap him. "What's wrong with you?"

He lowered his gaze while holding his stinging cheek. "I don't deserve her."

"Let her be the judge of that," she stated, turning in the opposite direction. Before leaving she looked back to him with the same aggravated expression. "Stop being so thoughtless."

He would continue pushing everyone away.

Starrk rubbed his face and continued down the hallway.

He entered the empty piano room where he took a seat before the instrument. He had watched Layla skillfully play these ivory keys with enchanting grace and had looked happiest in front of a piano, so joyful he could almost see the sorrow disappear from her gaze. He cannot make her happy. He noticed that lately. She has been livid since the day he pushed her away when she wanted him. She had become nearly impossible to deal with, fifty times more aversive than during their first meetings but he was no say, either. He acted the same.

He hated having to see her enjoying every day with Constantine Gervais, despised how the man looked at her with newfound adoration, and abhorred how easily he spoke of her.

Starrk pressed a few keys with his right hand, creating a soft tune in and heard voices fast approaching.

Constantine Gervais and Douglas Grey entered the piano room, the latter acting especially astonished to see him sitting where he was.

"I didn't know you played, viscount," said Douglas mockingly. "Why not play something for us? We have time, do we not, your grace."

Constantine smirked proudly. "If you don't mind that is."

Starrk stood quickly, the bench sliding noisily behind him and moved from the platform toward the door. "I do not play."

Douglas stopped him and annoyingly patted his back, drawing him back toward the Duke of Burgundy. "I don't think you two have been formally acquainted, right?" He did not wait for a response. "Your grace, this is the Luisenbarn heir, Coyote Starrk, Viscount L'Isle."

The duke offered a hand and Starrk courteously shook it. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Layla speaks favorably of you."

He ignored his last comment.

"Yes, a pleasure."

Douglas Gray did not.

His expression turned surprised. "Do you see, your grace?" he stated suddenly. "I do think Miss Layla and the viscount have a bit of an affair going on behind closed doors."

Constantine chuckled humorlessly. He obviously found Douglas Gray's comment displeasing. "I believe she called it a friendship, nothing more."

"Nothing more," Starrk agreed somberly, giving the man a daunting glare.

"It was but a joke, viscount," he said, patting his arm again in a playful manner. He turned back to Constantine. "How is your time with the lady? She seems quite taken by you."

The duke smiled sheepishly. "I am quite taken myself and would only hope she is as well. She is a lovely woman, no doubt, talented and intelligent and quite beautiful."

Douglas shot him a sideway glace. Once they were out of Vinnlake Hall he made a mental note to murder the Queen's representative. With every pleasantry exchanged about Layla, his irritation grew to unnerving levels. He struggled for composure and it was an oddity, even to himself.

"Did you know the viscount is also a Yamamoto?"

"Oh?" the duke looked pleasantly surprised as he looked back to the annoyance etching its way in his expression. "Are you?"

"His late father was a nephew to Yamamoto," he said, turning to him with a victorious smirk. "I had the pleasure of meeting both your parents. Celeste was an enchanting woman."

"Excuse me." He bowed his head and headed straight for the door, dreading the second he noticed Nnoitra approaching with a large smile plastered on his face.

Nnoitra wasted no time to stop him in his tracks. "Heading to see your mistress or…" his smile twitch upward more, "will it be _innocent _Miss Layla." He had leaned over a wall, looming over him. "So, is she as sweet as she looks?"

_Enough._

Starrk straightened out. "Move."

"Come on, Starrk, me an' Grimmjow are curious," he said mockingly. "Have you bedded the girl or are you—"

Starrk's balled fist collided with the side of Nnoitra's face, knocking him over to clear the way. His cousin cursed loudly as he hit the ground and would have pursued a bout but the Duke of Burgundy and Douglas Gray emerged from the piano room to see the taller man holding his bloody nose.

* * *

In the midst of light slumber, drifting in and out of reality and dreams, Layla experienced a sweet enchantment.

Opening and closing the tiny hands she possessed, a young Aishe lifted her curious gaze. Soft, shallow waves of cropped reddish brown hair framed her tiny face as large brown orbs stared beyond a garden overflowing in blooming flowers of various colors. The crunch of soil drew her attention from the structure sitting in the crux of the garden and redirected her focus to the woman crouching at her side.

Covered in gold bracelets with emerald pendant earrings, her eyes which stared at her in adoration were a soft green hue the glittered beneath the sunlight. Long orangey red hair hung over her shoulder, curled and tied by a matching green ribbon, her face was framed by a straight fringe. She had a soft expression, a kind one, and a light smile gracing her lips as she ran the back of her fingers against her cheek.

She pulled her skirt as she settled at her side and drew her closer. "Do you think it beautiful, Aishe?"

Her eyes swept over the picturesque scenery and rest her head back into the woman's bosom with a curt nod.

"If you wish to stay…" the woman whispered, kissing the top of her head, "we can." Her arms wound about her tiny frame and pulled her onto her lap. "If it's us, he promised we could stay."

She inclined her head back, staring at the woman's forlorn expression upside down. "Who, _mama_?"

"_Papa_," she answered peacefully.

A strong wind swayed the flowers in their surroundings. She could smell the various flowers with every breath she took and watched as petals fluttered around them like streams of falling ribbons. And this woman, her mother who up until then had a face shrouded by deep shadows, held her so strongly it hurt, but she felt happy there.

"Do you want to stay, Aishe?"

"With you, _mama_."

A smile appeared on the woman's face. "Then let's return to the caravan together."

Jaelle picked herself off the ground, pulling her onto her feet and took her tiny hand.

The garden was exceptionally large and winding that it took very little time for her feet to grow tired. Jaelle carried her along a cemented path leading up to a gargantuan stone mansion with tall and wide windows. She stood perfectly still at the back door and waited with a daughter in arms and a regret in her heart.

Once more, Jaelle kissed her head, held a hand to her back as she started into a different direction. Layla's curious eyes looked over the large edifice until she caught sight of someone standing by an open window. She lifted her head to see a man with sharp features and cruel eyes watching them leave. He raised a hand to her and a smile appeared on his face, softening his expression.

She waved farewell to the stranger with a bright smile.

Layla's eyes flickered open and she sat up in the uncomfortable armchair, straightening her back and stretching her limbs. The book on her lap thudded on the ground. She recalled the dream vividly, but thought nothing of it as she bent down to take the book from the ground as she stood.

She tidied her attire, pushed loose strands of hair behind her ear, and left her bedchambers to join her family and the Duke of Burgundy to dinner. Turning the hall she found herself a few seconds from ramming straight into Nnoitra, but managed to stumble away in time to avoid impact.

"What the fuck?" he cursed, eyes dropping to see her standing equally annoyed and soon a smile appeared on his face. He leaned toward her, slouching to level with her gaze. "Layla Aizen. I didn't think I'd run into to you anytime soon."

She attempted to round the corner when he stepped in front of her with mock interest and bad intentions. She glared threateningly at the tall man, her teeth clenched. She had plenty of run-ins with Nnoitra within the past three days and no meeting between them could be considered the least bit pleasant. His actions and reasons were unnecessary, unwanted, and irritating.

"Get out of the way."

Her tone was harsh, but his smile did not vanish.

"No need to turn into a bitch, is there?"

"I don't have time for this," she uttered beneath her breath, pushing past him forcefully.

He caught her wrist and pushed her into the nearest wall, leaning too close for comfort as she struggled to break free from his iron grip. "Why don't you come along with me like you have with the Duke of Burgundy? I'd kill to see that jealous look on Starrk's face again."

"The viscount is of no concern to me," she answered straightly. "I don't see why you obsess to believe there is something present when there is none."

At the sound of her unfaltering tone, he laughed brazenly. "You'd be surprised how much I know, Layla, in fact, every Luisenbarn knows it. You're getting played, little girl."

She heard him speak cruel words to her, but refused to let them ruin her current peace of mind. She shook her head and chuckled. "I have no worry losing a temporary acquaintance, Nnoitra. We will be enemies the moment we leave this wretched manor, no?"

"Are you fucking stupid?" he cried as he barked out a laugh. "Keep pretending, Layla. He doesn't pretend with us. We all know you've got shit going on behind closed doors. It's what grandfather asked him to do. Enamor Aizen's sheltered little princess, get under her skin, love her, and then destroy her. You'll be fucking dead soon, but shit." He looked at her with lewd eyes and smirked widely. "I'm starting to regret not taking the offer myself. I'd love to fuck you."

A deafening clap resonated in the midst of silence.

Layla's anger boiled until it seemed petty to keep ignoring it. She slapped him, enough to make her palm grow red and sting with indescribable pain.

"Imbecile," she cursed. "You are a degenerate! Have some class."

She tried moving past him once more, but he grabbed her harshly, once more and slammed her back against the wall. "Don't fucking touch me again, you bitch."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Let me go," she enunciated. "_Now._"

She did not fear the man standing before her, even while understanding his capabilities and knowing his barbarities knew no limit. She did not tremble beneath his piercing glare or pay heed to the growing pain in her wrists as he tightened his grip.

"You think you're special, don't you?" he stated. "You're not. Have you seen your precious lover anywhere? No, of course not. He's too busy laughing behind your back while fucking Robin Talbot."

_Robin…Talbot?_

Her eyes grew slightly wide. "What?"

"You heard me. He doesn't love you. Stop lying to yourself, princess." Her struggle ended after he spoke those words and the ill-intent floored as his grip loosened. "We can get 'im back together though, jus' you and me."

Her heart pounded rapidly as she jerked out of his grip. "Excuse me?"

She pushed against his chest lightly and he let her go to see her suffering. Her pained expression thrilled him.

Layla scampered right down the same hall she emerged from and eyes wildly took in her surroundings, oil paintings hung high and low, the large mirror in a crux between corridors, potted flowers held atop tiny tables. She picked up her pace with every winding turn past various bedchambers including her own and those belonging to her siblings.

_There are many Robin's in this country, no doubt._

A voice echoed in her head, her subconscious mind refusing to acknowledge it.

_He must be lying. Neliel often said he did cruel things for his own enjoyment._

But Starrk had been acting strangely for the longest time.

_He is only tired. There is so much strain on the family heirs that it is expected._

He had scratches on his back!

_You're overreacting._

She appeared before her father's bedroom and brought and hand to the oak doors, tears stinging in her eyes. She dried them out with the cuff of her sleeve and knocked hard against the surface.

Sounds came from inside as she turned to wait impatiently, pacing in a circle before the entrance. A click of the lock and creak of the door abruptly stopped her and she stared directly at her father's back as he returned to his armchair.

"What do you need, Layla?"

"I'm skipping dinner."

He sat and pulled a book from the adjacent table. "Oh?"

She struggled to keep her voice from hesitating. "I want to learn everything about the Three Families and its members."

He had opened his book, but he regarded her with paramount curiosity. "I must decline your wishes, Layla. That information solely belongs to the second generation of this family and you have undoubtedly refused my offer."

She swallowed hard. "I retract my insolence, father. I want to be the future of this family."

A malicious smile curved his lips. "As you wish."

* * *

Layla returned to her bedroom with a weathered bound book hugged to her chest and a restless heart. She dismissed Will upon entering and locked the doors after ensuring the room was completely empty. She heaved the large book onto a table she messily cleared and tugged at the leather straps binding it closed.

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

The heavy cover was lifted and pushed onto the table's surface. Flipping through the entire thing she only found the final set of pages empty, the rest was covered in unknown information her father gathered over the years. He explained the contents briefly.

_"This contains a life full of secrets. It should be your greatest treasure."_

It held every secret uncovered and extorted, every shady business the families were involve in was written upon these pages with great detail, and members of every family were given a proper introduction. In the back cover sat a list of names, beneficiary under every clan, those that had passed were crossed off the list, including the most recent whirl of murders. She quickly flipped through the thick pages until she found Starrk.

He had a mistress named Robin Talbot.

She fell into the nearest chair and held the book against her chest before gulping the lump in her throat to read on.

He ended his patronage upon taking interest in her.

_Me?_

Barragan Luisenbarn though it easier to rid the families of what he believed to be the weakest link by eternally ruining Layla Aizen's reputation and putting a strain in the Aizen clan's affairs.

She found it difficult to read on, but continued on with furrowed eyebrows. She flipped the pages that followed unable to stomach the idea of the farce she lived through. The mere thought Nnoitra had been spouting nothing but the truth infuriated her. The Luisenbarn were set on making a mockery out of her because she proved to be the easiest target and for subsequent minutes, reading through key information, she felt as though they had a point.

She had been a sheltered noble without experience to the ugliness awaiting her beyond the walls of her father's mansion. A stupidly naïve individual that knew nothing but what others told her that had been mentally weak and suffering could do nothing to stop her brittle, selfish heart from falling in love with the first man to show kindness and understanding.

Robin Talbot had been invited to Vinnlake Hall and accompanied Lord Kyoraku.

His mistress had always been in the same home as they, tempting and pleasing him.

_"He's too busy laughing behind your back while fucking Robin Talbot."_

Nnoitra's mocking tone reverberated in her head.

Melancholy demanded she threw the book into the hearth and watch it burn, but desperation compelled her to flip through the entire thing until she found information about Robin Talbot, a high-class prostitute from London.

Robin Talbot presented herself under the name Claire Solaris, claiming to be a professional actress.

The book slid from her fingers and hit the ground with a loud thud.

_Claire?_

It made sense.

Starrk corrected her once after she called the audacious redhead Claire. He—

_"Her name is Robin."_

She gasped, but quickly muffled the sound with both hands clasped over her lips. Her eyes widened and grew red, tears sprung at the rims and slid over her cheeks. Her breathing turned erratic, her heart pounded in her ears, and her stomach churned painfully.

She was suffering.

She sobbed, held herself, and cried. Trembling fingers buried into her hair and messily undid the knots holding it pinned behind her head. Her memories with him started feeling more like a lie as they passed her by like tiny petals carried by the wind. Everything read like fantasy and once more her reluctant subconscious refused to let reality sink deep, but she had grown tired of it.

This is the last time.

Her tears refused to subside and quieting her sobs took a pillow to muffle them into incoherent squeaks after climbing her bed. She curled into a ball, holding her legs to her chest and burying her face against her knees.

Betrayal stung the most.

* * *

**Next Update**: April 9


	32. Odium

**Masquerade**

Chapter 32

-_**Odium**_-

_When dark revelations_

_Come to light_

_Real emotions_

_Come alive_

Layla placed a stack of books over Will's outstretched arms and heard him grunt as he shifted the weight uncomfortably. Everyone within her family had been ordered to start packing as they would leave within the next two days because Aizen had urgent business to attend to. She had been more than happy to comply with her father's wishes as she felt there was no need for her to stay for the remaining revelries. Her father did give her the option to stay as his representative, but she refused without contemplation and immediately tracked her butler down to have him help pack. The young man looked slightly dejected as she relayed the last bit of news that would ever reach his ears, but went off to pull the trunks he had securely hidden in a secret compartment of her boudoir.

By the end of that evening everything with the exception of a few changes of clothes and her three trunks would be sitting beside the door against the wall. For the time being, though, William rushed in and out of her boudoir, emptied out various drawers, and made trips from the kitchens to her bedroom within the first five hours of the day.

Layla sat in the middle of her bed with her legs drawn up to her chest and the book that ruined her tranquil outlooks lying before her. She studied it religiously throughout the days, putting off various conversations with everyone around her, avoided leaving her bedchambers, and meeting with Starrk.

He arrived at her bedroom every night since she made the realization and she merely smiled while inviting him inside. As she curled up on the couch, he would join her by resting his head on her lap and usually fell asleep to her soft caresses. She would sit in wonder, after having closed her book, if he felt remorseful for having wronged her and asked herself whether or not that day it did occur would be when she confronted him. She shut her eyes and leaned back against the fluffy pillows behind her. She thought about how it made her feel.

A mixture of emotions plagued her, whirled about inside her until they became one solid sentiment—until it became odium.

It made her laugh.

Layla reached toward the book before her and closed it shut with a heavy thud. "William?"

The young blond stopped as he carried yet another stack of books onto the opened trunk. "Yes?"

"Do you by any chance know where Claire's room is?" she asked curiously.

He silently gazed at her, finding the request a bit odd. "Do you need something from her?" he queried, going on before she could explain her actions in justifiable detail. "I can always call her to save you the trouble of heading downstairs."

She slid over the mattress and swung her legs off. Her bare feet touched the soft rug beneath the canopy and her fingers curved over the edge. A pleasant smile graced her lips as she tilted her head to have her hair fall over her shoulder in perfectly tame waves.

"I want to properly bid farewell to all of my friends," she answered saccharinely. "I think I might leave early after all."

"Oh." He seemed surprised. "What brought upon this change?"

"I'm homesick."

"Yes, of course." She watched him turn with the same expression and saw him neatly place her books into the trunk. "Claire's bedchamber sits betwixt the Yamamoto clan's lodgings and the servant's quarters. It's the only bedroom in the large hall, you can't miss it."

"William?"

"Yes?"

He did not turn to face her.

"If you were to leave Vinnlake Hall and never return, would you be homesick?"

"No. I do not think I would."

Layla stood and walked to him with the book in hands. He turned and took it from her outstretch hands, to pack it into her things. "Then why don't you come with me?"

His eyes widened with shock. "W-what?"

"Yes," she said with a nod. "I'll hire you and pay you quite a bit more than what you're getting here."

"Why?" he managed audibly, his eyebrows rose in confusion.

"Why?" she queried playfully. "You don't think I'd want to leave without you with me, do you?" She walked back toward the door after saying this and spun to have her back to him. "No matter," she added, taking the door handle and opening it wide. "If you decide to take my proposition, I'll be expecting you downstairs this evening with all of your things. That leaves you quite a bit of time to decide."

She shot him another pleasant smile before stepping out of the room, leaving him alone to deliberate. The laughter remained in her expression as she held her hands together in front of her. She gave her decision plenty of thought and purposely decided to shorten her stay at the last minute to give her butler little time to make a choice. He would agree to go with her, hopefully. It would ease the troubles she would face in living in a home she had yet to grow accustomed to.

She had gotten permission.

Accepting her fate allowed her to ask for various things like materialistic objects that held no deep sentimental meaning, nothing particularly soothing in an emotional state of mind. She wanted to go on with her plans to leave the house in London to enjoy the countryside within a larger, more luxurious, and remote manor.

She needed someone at her side if her father planned to keep Orihime at the main house and she felt melancholic at the thought of departing without her faithful butler for the past weeks.

But she would not feel right about leaving without accomplishing a few…_tasks_.

* * *

Claire entered her bedchamber with her face brightened with laugher and disheveled hair, and closed the door with a deafening slam. She did not take notice of her intruder until she pivoted to drop a bright shawl onto the nearest chair when her gaze quickly met the back of Layla Aizen's head.

"M-Miss Layla," she called unsuspectingly.

Layla fingered through the woman's various perfume bottles and slid a finger over a jewelry box bulging with emerald, ruby, and diamond ornaments. She seemed as though she had not heard the first call.

She despised being ignored, but she regarded her again. "I'm surprised to see you here, Miss Layla—"

"No," Layla interjected, striding past the dresser to the various decorations exemplifying the room's warmth. "You should not be too shocked to find me here."

Claire clung for composure as the sheltered girl's actions were starting to rake on her nerves. That woman left poison on whatever it was she touched—that venom brought along various changes within the viscount, it managed to show the ugliness of him when he had always been beautiful in her eyes and thinking him otherwise made her taste bile.

"I heard you leave within the next few days." Claire propped open a fan to wave before her face and kept her mind occupied. "It's a shame we won't be able to spend much time together."

"Actually, I leave this evening."

"So quickly?" she gasped.

"Yes, I do seem to find my presence unnecessary." Layla pivoted, long wavy hair slid over her shoulders to hide traces of a mark at the base of her neck. It made her stomach revolt in jealous apprehension. "Everyone deems me unworthy of my title and I will have none of it." The skirt of her mahogany dress swayed at her ankles as she approached her, the echo of her heels against hardwood filtered through her ears. "I have decided to give them peace of mind. I don't wish them to tire of my face so early in the game, it would be a loss."

Her tone was harsher and distinctive, barren of kindness.

She did not recognize the woman standing before her and her irritation turned to suspicion.

"You are acting quite strange, my lady."

A smile appeared on her face. "I have grown tired of voices speaking behind my back in secrecy. I am in no way acting strange. This is simply an expression of my odium to these irksome subjects."

"Yes, well, the Three Families are shrouded in secrecy," answered Claire as she backed away from the woman. "I do think you will need to get used to it."

"Of course, I believe so as well, but that isn't my reason for coming here." She took another step toward her and halted as she dropped both arms at her sides. "I do hope you excuse the intrusion. I grew impatient waiting outside."

"It is no problem, my lady," she stated quickly and flapped the fan until the light air started swaying her curls. A playful smile appeared on her face, but her stomach remained unsettled. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I feel rather disturbed, Miss Robin Talbot." Her voice turned acrimonious as her true name left her lips and eyes went wide. "So you'll have to forgive my impatience in skipping my well rehearsed speech to jump straight to the point."

Claire opened her mouth to speak in protest, demand an answer to the question lingering in her mind, but Layla's hand slapped over the bottom half of her face, silencing her before she even had a chance to speak. She felt the sharpness of her nails pinching at the flesh of her cheek and her eyebrows furrowed as she muffled a complaint. She clasped both hands over her arm to pry her off, but the noble's grip tightened and the ever-present smile cause her heart to fall into a frenzy.

"I hate many things as you might have already noted," Layla started, "but there is one thing I hate more above the rest." Claire's eyes bugged out as she continued struggling to remove her hand from her mouth to only have her nails dig into her flesh. She muffled a scream. "I hate being the pawn in any selfish twat's game."

Layla tossed her back with force, nails leaving tiny red lines over her cheek as she sloppily hit the ground.

"What is wrong with you?" cried Claire.

"I have been made a fool by you and that disgusting man for—" she paused shortly, changing her erratic tone to something a bit more composed as she turned her back to the trembling woman, "well, who cares how long."

She feigned ignorance. "I d-don't know what you're talking about it."

Layla glanced over her shoulder innocently. "Do you swear to me you don't?" She watched Claire vigorously nod in response and turned to her fully, crouching down beside her as her fingers slid beneath her chin. Claire jolted, eyes sprung tears, and the blood drained from her face. "Would you be willing to bet your life on this, Miss Talbot? If you lie, you will be killed. But I'm not boorish, Miss Talbot, and I did respect our friendship for however long it remained without blemish so I will allow you to choose your preference in dying."

"You're a disgusting—"

She wagged a finger in front of her face. "No, no, Miss Talbot. Do not add insult to injury. I may retract my kindness if that is the case."

Claire took a deep breath finally seeing this woman for who she truly was: a monster. She allowed a face of determination to mold her previously frightened features. She had had similar situations to these when wives found out their husband has been seeing a prostitute behind their backs and she resolved plenty of those cases with ease. She would describe how their husbands preferred a mere whore to a woman of status, how she made their heads spin, and had them hungry for seconds. Many left emotional wrecks and never returned—all of them left in similar ways and only a few that dared slap her. She laughed at them, made a complete mockery of their actions than feeling hurt. She was made of steel. Such things would never affect her.

They were sheltered women, just like Layla Aizen. Women that displayed a strength that never belonged to them, docile creatures that could only defend themselves to a certain extent, and there was a flicker in Layla's eyes that made her believe she crossed the line.

"Take your kindness," she spat. "What does it matter that you belong to a prestigious clan? You can do nothing to me because you led a covert relationship with the viscount. If you were to speak of it, you would shame your family's name and his…forever ruining your prospects as the next leader."

The laughter never left Layla's expression. She seemed all knowing.

"Do not tempt me, harlot," uttered Layla through clenched teeth. "I am willing to stain my hands with trash, do not test me."

Claire barked a laugh, but there was no change in the other woman. "Save me the jealous display. Do not blame me for your man's desires. It is not my fault that you cannot please him enough to—"

She slapped her across the face, silencing her instantly. "You're misunderstanding, Robin Talbot, this is far from a jealous fit. Neither one of you is worth the trouble." Layla eyed her with disgust. "You are not worthy of my envy and men like him can easily be replaced."

Holding her stinging face, she retaliated, hitting the noblewoman hard enough to snap her head to the side."Then what the fuck do you want?"

"I would like it if you kept your filthy hands from my things."

Claire's anger flared. "Is that what he meant to you?" she shouted. "Was he an object to keep you pleased while the time lasted? You worthless woman! At least I love—"

Layla no longer held her equanimity, quickly discarding it she attacked the prostitute and their bickering ensued. Claire continued throwing the truth out of proportion. It made the evident jealousy lessen until her lies became truth.

_"If he loved you so much he would not have slept with me? He loved it, I can assure you, and he has returned for more since that first night. Didn't you feel absolutely lonesome after the attack on the families? He came to be comforted by me."_

The door slammed open as they continued rolling about the ground pulling each other's hair and tearing at the expensive fabrics covering their bodies, shouting obscenities and taunts at the top of their lungs.

A voice cried out to them as Layla was pried off from the woman kicking and screaming with pieces of Claire's hair fisted in her hand. Claire struggled to get onto her feet. She felt her face bruising and her chest clenching. She stared at William as he dragged his charge out of the room glaring directly at her.

Claire held her face…touching it gently.

* * *

Layla managed to give Claire the savage beating she deserved and would have emerged victorious had William not been venturing down the corridor at that precise moment to hear the whore's incessant prattle. She was seething and swimming in a pool of various emotions that left her conflicted. She wanted to go back to scratch her eyes out, leave more bruises on her stupid face, and stuff something in her mouth to shut her up. Yet, she also needed to return somewhere silent where the influx of emotions could settle and/or pour out.

She continued struggling against William's grip, pushing the arm he had about her waist as feeling welled up in her chest and she could no longer handle it. She felt tears dripping from her chin and loud sobs falling from her lips. Her body trembled with frustration. She could only imagine she looked a fright—hair a mess, make-up smudged, torn dress, and reddened cheeks.

When her young butler had pulled her onto an emptier corridor, he let go, knowing she would not think of rushing back to Claire's room to put an end to what had started. She clung to the boy, holding onto the lapels of his coat as she sobbed into his chest. He held his hands away from her not knowing what to do in that situation except look at the broken woman struggling to keep the raw emotion from spilling. Her shoulders were trembling with the weight of her grief. Her dress had been indefinitely ruined that it exposed more skin than appropriate.

"I'm so sorry, William," she cried as her grip tightened. "I'm so sorry. I am an unsightly mess."

Will let his hands hover above her small shoulders and hesitated as he brought them down to touch the softness of her skin and the torn bits of the sleeves. She inched closer and he relinquished his boundaries if it meant comforting her. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, hearing her crying double over and the grip she held over him stiffen. He heard bits and pieces of the conversation—what had been shouted by Claire, at least.

He understood it was too horrible for her to bear.

"What happened to her?"

Will lifted his gaze to the man questioning them and dropped his arms from her to his sides. Layla heaved a breath and detached herself from her butler to look see Starrk standing a few meters away from them.

He saw her tears, saw the fire lit her eyes, and watched as her butler turned away in courtesy.

"What happened?" he asked again.

Layla reached for Will's hand and pushed past Starrk. "You happened."

* * *

Starrk watched as Layla left down the corridor, holding a hand over her mouth. His eyes narrowed, a tumultuous worry churned at the pit of his stomach, and hysterical screams reached his ears. The sleeves of her mahogany dress had been torn, lace hung from the skirt and dragged across the floor. Her hair a mess, make-up smudged, she looked as though she had had a run-in with a tornado, and seemed complete and utterly destroyed. He wanted to go after her, but her callous tone forced him to reconsider and push the thought from his mind. He wasn't sure whether it was sadness, guilt, or sympathy corroding his insides as he drew his gaze from her direction.

He turned away from the hall and continued his trip to the backdoor within the kitchens when another scream echoed past his ears. He put a face to the voice and turned his head as he passed the corridor which held Robin's bedchamber to see the hysterical redhead pushing her chambermaid.

He sighed exasperatedly as he approached them, pitying the young girl being pushed around by the redhead. He picked the skittish girl by the arm, surprising her into a frenzy of apologies as the tears continued running down her chest. He paid Robin little mind until she clung to his arm, pushing the girl away once more.

"She's crazy, viscount! She's tried killing me!"

Starrk looked down to the woman, seeing scratches against her freckled skin and light bruising all around. He caught her face in his hand and ordered the chambermaid away. The young girl scampered away, wiping fresh tears upon her white apron.

Robin flinched though his fingers were cold and gentle. He had no intention of hurting her, but he did look over the layer of bruises she acquired courtesy of his lunatic woman.

He said nothing kind to her. In fact, he did not speak at all. He turned and rushed to Layla. His mind blamed Robin. His chest clenched with trepidation as he crossed various boundaries to reach the unexpected. He knew it was better to leave her be, but he needed to see her. He had to know that those tears were from physical pain and not emotional.

He stopped abruptly midway, unable to go on.

Starrk held his face in his hand and sighed once more.

The regret ached.

"Damnit," he cursed lowly.

* * *

Layla blankly stared at the pastel-colored walls while submerged in water. William was on his knees at her side, black coat discarded on a hook on the wall, and his stomach pressed against the marble tub. The aromatic oil dropped into her bath colored the water a light pink and filled the room with a variety of scents. It was a sweeten mixture and she felt it had returned her equanimity. If she faced anyone, she could do it without faltering or showing the horrible emotions raging inside her. They exhausted her.

She wanted to return home and stay holed up in her bedroom until everything returned to normal.

She wondered if it were even possible.

"I think I understand now," whispered Will, squeezing the water from the cloth and draping it over the ledge.

"What is it that you understand, William?"

"Claire's intentions," he answered. "I—"

She moved her hand from within the water and patted his shoulder, drawing back. "Tell me later, William."

He nodded hesitantly. "Yes, of course. I apologize." He straightened out and took a few backward steps toward the doorway. "I'll leave you to relax."

"Thank you."

Layla folded her legs before her and rested her chin on her knee with her hands coiled over her feet. The door opened and half closed with Will's departure.

Her young butler returned within the same minute with a serious look on his face. "This viscount is here, do I…?"

She swallowed hard, but smiled in assurance. "Let him in."

Will nodded, bowed, and left.

Starrk appeared shortly after; his eyes were full of concern as he looked in her direction. She held her feet tightly as she smiled in greeting.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Starrk, I must have looked a fright," she said suddenly.

The second he shut the door, he took quick steps to reach her side and took her face in his hands to check for damage. There wasn't any trace of injury to her face or body.

"What's wrong, Layla?" he queried softly. "What are you doing?"

She said nothing in response to his inquiry, heart beating wildly in her chest as she slid back against the end of the fairly large tub. "Do you wish to join me, viscount?"

His eyebrows furrowed and lids drooped over slate blue orbs as he pushed his messy dark hair from his face. He struggled for a reasonable response. He would throw his pride and duty away to make love to this woman, but he knew their fate long before she accepted his courtship. It was a fruitless decision he had taken knowing she would eventually be courted publically by a man more deserving—one with a clean slate that lived as any noble should without criminalizing streets by acting as murderers to further the plans of a man unworthy of power—and she may have no choice but to accept. She would marry and have children with this stranger in his head and would eventually forget all about him. He refused to be guilty of taking her virtue or tarnish the possibility of a normal life among the nobles.

By the time they became the leaders of their respective clans they would forever be enemies, changing something set in stone read like a difficult feat to unwind. If nobody outside their inner circle could so much as harm one of the many members, it sounded impossible for those insiders to take the knowledge that created the rift between the Three Families and the governments they controlled to the depravity they fed behind closed doors and destroy them. It would take much more than that. He understood the pain of knowledge and hated learning it. He knew long before that he could never keep Layla Aizen to himself and resented that simple ideal, but it did not stop him from pursuing her affections.

Once acquired…he made mistakes. He made pitiful, unnecessary mistakes that hung his shoulders and head in perpetual ignominy. He wanted to apologize, to hold her, and pray he'll be forgiven, but the change between them was obvious.

She knew.

He waited too long to speak truth and filled their ever-growing relationship with lies and stained it with betrayal.

"No," he answered quietly.

Layla reached to touch his hand with wet fingers and a playful grin. Her eyes glittered beneath the dim light filtering through an aperture of the tall windows.

"Please, Starrk," she whispered alluringly, drawing his hand to her lips and kissing his fingers gently. "You look exhausted and the water is relaxingly warm."

"Did Robin hurt you?"

Her grin widened as she moved his hand from her lips. "Robin?"

"Claire," he corrected quickly.

"Oh, Claire? Why would Claire hurt _me_?" she asked incredulously. "She's my friend." Her face paled. "Why? Did something happen to her?"

His gaze hardened. "I found her hysterical with fresh bruises."

"That sounds ghastly, I should go visit and see what's happened."

He could not believe her because he had seen the tattered gown she wore and her hair a mess.

"Why were you crying?"

She laughed lightly. "I tumbled down the stairs with Will in tow. My favorite gown was torn to bits."

"Then…" He stared at her perplexed.

"William and I were bickering about you when it happened. It was silly banter. You must excuse my rudeness, too, I had things pending."

"Your luggage?" he questioned.

She nodded. "I'm leaving."

He let the shock turn his calm countenance. "Why?"

"I can't stand being in the presence of fickle individuals and traitors," she answered darkly. "Another couple of days and I wouldn't doubt Douglas Gray would appear dead in his chambers one sudden evening."

His established perceptions begun to slowly fade as her voice turned wicked. She smiled as she always would, but he noted the difference instantly. "You shouldn't say such things, Layla."

She ignored his comment and proceeded to invite him in the tub once more. He refused again.

"It's only a bath, Starrk." She sighed exasperatedly and stood bare naked. He turned away and took a towel sitting on a table to hand to her. She wrapped it around her body and stepped out of the pearlescent tub, leaving a trail of water behind her as she walked into her bedroom to dress.

She continued smiling through the ache in her chest, continued wearing this stupid innocence as her heart broke until there was nothing left but sparkling flecks glittering in darkness. It consumed the goodness in her and turned her into what she abhorred the most.

She sauntered toward her bed, holding the towel closed against her chest and dropped onto it, wet hair sticking to her face as Starrk appeared in her field of vision. But suddenly she did not want to see him.

The emotions she forced down came rushing back.

Her lips lost that effervescent smile and her eyes lost the light to melancholy. She curled her body into itself protectively as if he could only bring more harm to her and her brown orbs stung with tears.

"Am I not enough?"

Her voice was light and vulnerable, stricken with pain.

"What?"

He had not heard her clearly.

It annoyed her.

"Am I not enough? Am I a joke? Am I what your cousins say I am? Am I lesser than Robin Talbot that you would go through the trouble of lying to me in order to sleep with her?"

Her voice had progressively grown louder and she sat up.

Her sudden change in demeanor made sense. He should have corrected his mistake before it came to that moment. He asked himself why on constant repeat.

"Layla, I'm s—"

"Don't apologize to me!" she cried suddenly. "You haven't the right to ask for my forgiveness. How could you have done something so horrid to me?" It had not been the worst aspect as she shook her head with tears stinging in her eyes. "And you kept coming back to me."

"I love you," he tried, his voice leveled and calm.

It upset her further.

He looked indifferent to her pain, but deep inside he might have felt worse.

"Don't say you love me!" she yelled, struggling to hold in the rush of emotion. "Don't say such words to me when they're so fickle to you."

He said nothing.

"Why…?"

He moved forward and reached a hand to her.

She slapped it away.

"Don't touch me," she said through clenched teeth. "Don't come near me or speak to or of me. Just get out of my life."

Her vision grew blurry, but she watched his hand fall to his side and a pained look cross his features.

Again, he said nothing. He stepped back, unable to say a word to aid the rift tearing apart the relationship she nurtured with care. He might say the wrong thing if he did.

It had not been fair to Layla.

It was not fair to himself.

She swallowed her tears and dropped to her bed with a frustrated grunt.

That evening she would depart from Vinnlake Hall and the nightmare would end. It was the only thing that mattered then.

She cared very little for the rest.

* * *

What she lived within Vinnlake Hall—an impossible three week romance with her supposed enemy—had been easily discarded like ripping pages from a book and further into tiny unreadable pieces. She stepped onto her carriage after bidding farewell to few people: Neliel, Halibel, her father, and the Duke of Burgundy. Douglas Gray had been present to see her off, attempted to place a kiss upon her cheek and received what she called a reflexive slap. It played out particularly well, though she expected some form of retaliation from the Queen's Representative as he proved to be a vindictive man. Neliel certainly found it comical enough to laugh and Halibel seemed pleased. Apparently the degenerate went around pestering every woman inside the manor without exception. The one time he appeared with a bruised face had been an encounter with Neliel gone awry. He never expected the sophisticated woman to pack a punch and he certainly deserved it.

As Will climbed into the compartment with a wry smile she looked outside, eyes facing upward to the slight obstruction of the carriage's ceiling and saw Starrk's half hidden face by the window. The door was shut by Ikkaku Madarame that agreed to sit beside the coachman to ensure their safety throughout the trip.

She turned away from the window and held her hands one atop the other on her lap.

Will looked exuberant as he hugged a bag full of his belongings. He faced her and she smiled bitterly in response.

* * *

**Slums of London**

Noxious smoke billowed in the sky intoxicating the pure oxygen they once inhaled and large rundown buildings teemed with foreigners and the destitute. Factories towered behind rickety edifices in the form of tall intimidating edifices that polluted the once clean air to feed the rich and kill the poor. The streets were littered with various individuals, but as Shinji Hirako and his young companion Roxanne ventured further into the poorer districts of the big city, people started thinning out. Whispers pursued them, eyes ogled the gold cuffs around the girl's wrists and the glittering emerald pendant earrings hanging from her ears, and scrutinized the well-tailored suit he wore.

Since their potential nightmare at the Wedgeworth private villa, Shinji and Roxanna had become outcasts. His home was patrolled twenty-four/seven by hulking men in Chinese outfits of Russian descent. (He heard them speak the time he had to coerce Roxanne into jumping from the second-story window to a seemingly fragile branch.) Roxanne tried returning to her caravan, brothers and cousins worried sick, but the same Russian men loitered about the Romani Plaza expecting their return.

The Book of Death proved to be of vast value.

From said piece of makeshift literature, Shinji gathered the directions of the Three Families' vacationing home two cities away in a remote countryside shielded by forests that are said to be dangerous for wanderers. The Fourth Family had already started making their move. They tried raiding Vinnlake Hall the second their heirs were presented—the three went unmentioned within the book—but had not foreseen the Luisenbarn clan taking center stage to destroy all intruders.

There was only one survivor from that raid, who managed to tell all, before he was found dead within his home with a noose wrapped around his neck. Everyone said it was suicide induced by trauma—he was only twenty, after all—but Shinji called foul play.

The final plan, and it contained the most concrete information, was to set Vinnlake hall ablaze with everyone inside. Someone within the beneficiary, an active member of the Queen's secret guard, had figured out a way to seal the doors and prevent escape. A gala would be fast approaching toward the end of the month and everyone including guards gathered within closed doors, no exceptions. Lowly, but highly trained members were sent to Vinnlake Hall.

Shinji had only finished making preparations.

"Where are we going?" queried Roxanne, bored of the ex-chief's stagnant silence.

"We're going to the countryside to foil the Fourth Families' plans, Roxanne," he answered laxly, grinning ear to ear. "Lisa made preparations. We're good to go."

"Why can't I stay with her then?"

"Because I have to keep you from doing anything stupid."

He said that snidely and it upset the girl.

"I don't do stupid things!"

"Yer the only reason we're outcasts in society, so," he looked to her with the same mocking smile, "thank you Roxanne for making us worthy of unnecessary hatred."

Roxanne huffed in response. "This better be to watch them die, you hear."

Shinji waved a hand dismissively. "Yea, yea."

His eyes wandered at the sound of a carriage and heaving horses behind him. He saw the shine beaming off a man's bald head and watched him curiously argue with the coachman that looked beat.

He recognized the bald one immediately. He was a guard of the Aizen clan.

Shinji slowed his steps so the slow moving carriage could pass them and as it did he looked into the window to see Layla Aizen holding her fingers to her temples as she spoke to a person shielded by the drapes inside.

"Hey, you think Layla'll be there?" asked Roxanne, drawing him from his observations.

It seemed odd. She was not supposed to be in London…let alone riding a carriage as though she were leaving it. Her home was the other way around.

Was she leaving? Where?

"You bet she will," he answered dully.

"Perfect!"

Shinji turned to face her. "What's yer obsession with her anyway?"

"I hate her," she answered simply.

He moved his head side to side in contemplation. "There a reason?"

"She's the reason my father's dead."

He never expected an answer and he might have had a different reaction if he were leading the Scotland Yard as it was meant to be, but he merely nodded in response.

Everyone had their reasons.

* * *

**Next Update**: April 10

Claire got what she deserved.

Thank you for the reviews, thus far (I haven't forgotten about anyone...I tend to lose track of reviews quickly between edits and rewrites. Sorry that I haven't responded. I feel horrible).

I also want to apologize for the next chapter which is short, shorter than I'm used to writing them for this story and it upsets me, but it had to be short because it's a transition chapter. Again, apologies.

Thank you for reading.


	33. Emotion

**Masquerade**

Chapter 33

-_**Emotion**_-

_"You will grow with experience."_

_"You need to stop pleasing others."_

_"It will make sense later."_

_"Be safe."_

_"I love you."_

Starrk lost many hours of sleep after Layla's departure and the last words they ever exchanged.

_"Don't touch me. Don't come near me or speak to or of me. Just get out of my life."_

He closed his eyes in resignation, dark circles forming beneath them, and flipped onto his side with a comfortable pillow tucked underneath his head. He could do her the favor, but it wouldn't last forever considering they were meant to lead rival clans. He figured the romance was better left in the past. He could give into the darkness in his heart knowing he lived through one wonderful experience. She could have been his anchor, but he ruined everything and that single detail made him hate himself the most. He would always detest himself the most to the point he found no wrong in Robin's actions even though she purposely seduced him and he was weak enough to take the bait. He always knew he would inadvertently find a way to ruin his own happiness. Why should a murderer be deserving of such a thing?

He still recounted their moments of joy and recalled her brightened smile—not the forced smile she used to mask her true emotions. He noticed it a while ago, but the guilt nearly suffocated him at the thought that she would know and leave him to rot in this rotten world they inhabited.

Staying silent backfired. Layla wanted nothing to do with him. She wanted him out of her life, forever perhaps. He would be stupid to think her anger would dissipate.

Starrk growled while rubbing his face. "This is a pain."

* * *

"Are you mopping 'cause Layla dumped you?" asked Lilynette as she plopped down on the edge of his bed. He hadn't budged, feigning sleep, but his young sister knew better. "So what? You weren't supposed to actually like her back, y'know? And it's her fault for falling for that stupid act."

"I wasn't acting."

Lilynette did a double take, dubious. "What?"

"I'm in love with her."

"You're joking, right?" she cried, punching his back hard enough to elicit a pained groan. "I thought she was too innocent for your tastes."

_I never said that._ "No."

Neliel mentioned something along the lines of reciprocated affection, but she thought the woman had gone senile on the trip over and huffed disconcertedly. She never considered it could hold an inkling of truth. Starrk confirmed he would take on the job given to him, in fact, he volunteered to do it before Grimmjow and Nnoitra pounced on the poor girl like a slob of meat for two hungry beasts. Starrk was never interested.

"But you've never been interested in her!" she continued skeptically.

She would need a thousand explanations before accepting this sudden turn of events. She wanted to scream aloud that no one ever told her anything serious and that it was tiresome reality.

"That's not true," he admitted quietly.

He had always been interested in her. He met her by chance on a trip to the market when his coach nearly ran her over and he offered her a hand. She stared at him with clear brown eyes and there was something about her he liked. She looked exotic for an Englishwoman and that immediately struck his fancy. And she was salacious, full of energy, and frighteningly intelligent. Any man could feign disinterest with that sort of woman, knowing damn well she had something that attracted them to her like magnets. He knew it was wrong after finally laying eyes on Aizen's youngest daughter, fraternal twin to Sun-Sun, who never liked having conversations with him. He had only tried getting along with the other members of the family, bored, slightly inebriated, and the dark haired woman so happened to be sitting beside him. He heard she had a twin and expected them to look exactly alike, but not everyone had had a chance to see the other because she had a weak body.

_She certainly didn't look weak that morning._

"Then what the hell?"

Starrk groaned. "Go away Lilynette."

"If you can't talk to me about it who're you going to talk to?"

It surprised him to hear the girl say those words. He didn't think she had a compassionate bone in her body after fourteen years of living.

"Myself?"

"Nel doesn't wanna talk to you and Ulquiorra will probably ignore you."

She forgot to mention the other two but that was probably for the best. He never got along with them enough to have long, troublesome conversations. He only really had Lilynette left sitting at his side that may be the only one unable to see him judgmentally and that made the weight on his shoulders decrease.

But the self-inflicted wounds were too fresh to touch upon and he didn't feel inclined to elaborate on his relationship with Layla.

"Not today," he said lazily.

Lilynette's face softened but the frown remained. "Then when?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

He wanted to give up already.

* * *

Starrk wanted to punch Nnoitra until he died. It wasn't a whim. He deserved it.

He accosted Layla and talked indecently to her, Neliel told him after a drunken Nnoitra told her himself. She told him as a courtesy because she herself wanted to deliver swift justice. She had, sort of, by offering to take him up to his bedroom in the middle of the night and instead tossing him out of the manor. He stayed outdoors for the rest of the night after she threatened anyone who dared let him back inside and he never once thought of turning the knob to any door. He was a blinded, belligerent drunk that caused nothing but trouble.

Starrk wanted to hunt him down and hit him. He was never a violent man—that sort of situations were bettered settled through words and kind gestures—but hearing the name _Layla _made him do things he didn't like sometimes. Punching Nnoitra would prove nothing, yet he wanted to saver the instance his fist collided with his face, and lock himself back into his room after it was all over and done with.

He was searching Vinnlake Hall scarcely, going hall to hall and regarding anyone who bothered to greet him, but everyone was concerned with something different. The Aizen clan would leave that afternoon. Their bags had already been made and loaded into their respective carriages. Everyone else would stay to rot in the mansion until their vacation was over and it was boring to think what he would do outside. He already had a joint job with his cousins, all of them, and it concerned the families' biggest threat: The Fourth Family. They were going to gather information and it would be the last peaceful dealings the Three Families did together. If he was lucky he might be able to meet with Layla during that time as she had as much to do with this as the others. They also had a formal gala they planned to present the heir's again, though it had been pushed back until the end of the year—a Winter Wonderland—because the threat against them was at its highest.

He stopped abruptly at the sound of Robin's voice in the connecting hallway.

"…She almost killed me!" she cried dramatically. "Do you see these bruises? How will I ever survive with such scars?"

"If you have something against my daughter, it's best to take it to her. I'm no longer interested in your services."

Starrk's eyes widened slightly. _What the…?_

Robin growled. "Had I known this would occur I would have never asked for an invitation! Your reward isn't worth the damages."

"If you were unable to win the viscount's affection there must certainly be a flaw in your art."

"Go to hell."

Robin stomped away fulminating.

Aizen appeared before the connecting hallway, staring directly at him as if he had been aware of his presence long before he incidentally eavesdropped. He gathered enough to understand everything had been Aizen's ploy.

"You never struck me as the curious sort."

Starrk's frown deepened. "You're toying with Layla's life."

Aizen looked vastly amused. "Aren't you being hypocritical, viscount?" he queried dauntingly. "Did your family not decide to toy with m y daughter's life first?"

Starrk swallowed the bile. He had a point and there was no use denying it. "That gives you no reason to pay Robin Talbot to stand between us."

"How bold," he said snidely. "But she certainly served her purpose. I must thank you, viscount, your skill is ineffable. To have Layla so in love with you to experience such a devastating breakdown is amiable." He moved down the hall, turning once more in his direction before finally leaving to meet the rest of his family in the foyer. "You far exceeded my expectations, but I must now ask you to refrain from bothering my daughter. You would only poison her life further."

He wanted to punch him. The urge suddenly overshadowed the previous one and the anger and guilt came flooding back. He no longer felt like confronting anyone…let alone seeing anyone. He wanted to get out.

* * *

The countryside manor belonging to the Aizen clan was larger than their home in London. It was a grand, elaborate stone mansion with tall glass windows, thick vines grown along the foundation, and lush evergreen grass decorated the entirety of the land belonging to her family. The garden sat beyond her field of vision, but there were many trees of various types about the stone mansion. It was beautiful, grander than Vinnlake Hall.

Layla heard many pleasantries about the manor, but she had been guilty of ignoring her surroundings. There were many awful thoughts running through her head that kept her from enjoying the peaceful scenery. She could have taken the time to enjoy a wonderful glass of wine underneath a canopy tent surrounded by the trees during the evening. The heat of the summer cooled afterhours and Will kept her windows opened to allow the breeze to enter.

But the first three days she spent in her new home she stayed holed up in her bedroom—eating, sleeping, crying, and hardly speaking. Will stayed by her side the entire time because she had ordered it and Ikkaku took temporary command of the bodyguards sent to the manor and made many trips to and from the countryside to ensure her safety. With her recent entitlement and the future of the Aizen clan on her shoulders, it was imperative to guard her with their life.

A slur of servants had been hired and greeted her kindly upon her arrival. She asked them all to introduce themselves as they already knew who she was and tried her best to memorize their names and faces. Will took charge of the direction everything went within the house and he seemed to be enjoying himself more than she thought possible. He even rushed up the staircase and ran down the hall after exploring the entire manor that there was a piano. He tried convincing her to leave that gargantuan bed that sometimes felt like it would eventually eat her up completely and if she closed her eyes…it was the sea she swam in, but it never worked.

He wasn't worth it, yet she suffered as if he was. She had the thought in her head constantly battering her, but she never considered turning away from it. It almost seemed as she wanted to keep it as a constant reminder so that she would never have to relive such an ugly emotion. She hated herself most for being as foolish as reciprocating the feelings he feigned to express toward her. In the end they seemed nothing more than lies as it proved quite simple to bed another woman because she was simply to pure to tarnish. She wanted to strangle him. She could do as she pleased and if she wanted she could sleep with half the world just like that whore Robin Talbot. She wondered if that would make her more desirable.

Layla dropped onto her back holding a plush pillow against her chest as her head hung over the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the ample room before spacious bed. She felt the thoughts disappear from her mind like a whisk of smoke and she swore to never think of something so degrading again. Why would she want to stoop down to that woman's level?

She closed her eyes as the blood rushed to her head.

She needed to grow up.

Curling into the fetal position she decided to sleep a while longer until the sadness permanently left her body and thoughts of Starrk left her as quickly as they came. She thought of leaving her room, but she always imagined if she walked out of her bedchamber she would find herself back in Vinnlake Hall and they would be standing at the of the hall ridiculing her. But when she stared out the window an extravagant view of rolling hills awaited her and it made her eager to explore. Regardless, she never thought of leaving. Her lovely butler took care of everything for her.

Even after hearing about the beautifully crafted piano downstairs…it proved not to be the right amount of incentive to get her going. She only wanted to sleep. She felt it cleared unnecessary thoughts and the world around her turned monotonous and lethargic—so drained of color and lifeless. And she spent over fifteen hours sleeping, the other nine hours were spent twisting and turning underneath the bedding and eating very little.

It was quite easy to sleep whenever she decided.

* * *

Will appeared at her bedside and took a seat on the day everyone was meant to return from Vinnlake Hall. She had already received a letter from her father shortly after her arrived to London and was informed he would pay her a visit next week. She stirred from light slumber and her lips parted as her eyes opened to stare at Will drowsily.

"Is it dark yet?" she questioned.

"It's still afternoon," he said lightly. "I have something important to tell you."

She dropped her arms over her head while yawning. "Did something happen?"

Will struggled to muster the courage to reiterate the news they just happened to receive and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Vinnlake Hall went up in flames the day everyone had been scheduled to leave."

Layla seated herself and leaned into her headboard, eyes staring at the blond widely.

"W-what?" she asked suddenly.

"Your father sent word. One of the guards rushed to relay the information and its being spread all throughout the streets of London."

She thought of Starrk.

"Is everyone well?" she questioned worriedly.

"There is no word on the Three Families."


	34. Good Things

Get used to it.

* * *

**Masquerade**

Chapter 34

-_**Good Things**_-

_Promise me,_

_Promise me now,_

_Promise me you will love her—_

_Love her unconditionally_

_Love her until she drowns in you._

_Love her until she can think of nobody but you._

_Love her until you believe it yourself._

_But when the moon rises,_

_You return to me, because…_

_I will be your freedom._

**Summer**

"Have you heard anything William?"

Layla appeared behind the blond servant suddenly, eliciting a dramatic reaction from the younger male as he never suspected she would make a trip to the kitchens to ask him a question. The knife in his hand clattered over the chopping board and he whirled around wide-eyed, amazed at her abrupt emergence. He needed time to get used to her actions. She was not like any lord or lady he may have served beforehand in terms of personal gestures. She was not used to ringing the bell to beckon him or forced him into unnecessary labor or treated him like the servant that he was. She was genuinely kind and even after a month…he found it difficult to adjust to.

He caught his breath and wiped the side of his brow on his shoulder. "You frightened me, my lady."

It had been two weeks since she moved into the countryside manor, which became her property upon accepting her father's burden, and approximately seven days since the news of the Vinnlake Hall inferno reached her ears.

"Have you any news on Vinnlake Hall…and its survivors?" she asked again, slowly.

Will picked the knife from place and continued chopping tiny cubes of watermelon. He wanted to finish the fruit salad quickly, while the chef was still out buying groceries to last the entire week, and prepare the lodgings of a new set of servants hired during the past three days. Most came from the countryside town atop the hill overlooking the manor and were scheduled to make their arrival tomorrow evening to help arrange the house for the earl's long awaited visit.

"I did not think you were interested in hearing of the aftermath, my lady," he said calmly. "Forgive my negligence."

Layla leisurely reached into the bowl holding the cubed fruit and took a bite from a juicy slice of watermelon, savoring its taste and cool texture for as long as possible. Her butler frowned at her disapprovingly, but went on without saying a word as she continued stealing cubes of fruit by the handful. It had grown terribly humid out and indoors—fresh fruits and cold drinks helped in keeping her refreshed. Will and the Head Chef, Mr. Hopkins, devised a series of new dishes to serve and fight against the humidity and possible heat strokes their fair lady was prone to experience on hot summer days.

"I figured that would be the sort of answer my father would expect me to have," she stated, turning to lean her back onto the cold counter surface. "I am the future of the Aizen clan so I have to think about changing my opinion on my certain aspects."

Her butler shook his head contemptuously.

The chop of the knife against wood kept her eyes glued to the brick structure of her kitchen ceiling. She was unfamiliar with the design that went into its construction, but according to her father certain rooms underwent few renovations which had led to his preference for their London home, where she recalled her earliest childhood memories as a part of nobility.

"I doubt switching your personality to an unfamiliar one was what your father intended."

"I am not changing my personality for another, William," she started defensively. "I have only decided to step onto the challenge of becoming a powerful woman. If my father chose me…it must have been for a reason. I doubt a naïve sheltered girl has the ability of being the leader of the next generation of the Three Families."

"May I offer my opinion?"

She looked at the blond suspiciously, but responded kindly. "Yes, of course, always."

"I do not believe receiving such a heavy burden entitles you to change yourself," he said critically. "What you are doing now is changing to appease your father in fear there may be another person in existence willing to reject you. If you try too hard, you may eventually come to disappoint yourself, and it is never right for anyone to reach that state of mind."

She dropped her gaze as her hands fisted in frustration.

Those were the words she absolutely refused to let sink in even if they were reasonable. She hated the boy's maturity—envied it—and how easily his words affected her. He had been the only person within Vinnlake Hall, or anywhere for that matter, to speak to her with such fearless honesty.

"You are joking," she said, forcing a mocking laugh as she straightened out her posture to face the young man fully. "You must be. Do you portray me underneath such a pitiful light, William? I truly am ashamed."

He dropped his head apologetically. "My apologies, it was not my intention to insult—"

She raised a finger silencing him as her eyebrows furrowed upon provocation. "If my actions are even the slightest bit pitiful or lamentable—" She paused, swallowing hard in the process of mustering unburied malice. "I do think I am entitled to do as I wish. I have been through enough, William, _enough _to want to make a permanent change."

Will stabbed the knife atop the wooden block and whirled around defiantly, eyes narrowed.

"Because a man broke your heart?" he questioned, his tone littered in frustration "Because you fell in love too quickly to notice and forgot to realize he belonged to the clan that despised your father the most? Or might it be the amount of time you spent lying to yourself…telling yourself he would be incapable of doing such a scandalous and shameless thing?"

"What right do you have to question my romantic entanglements?" she cried exasperatedly. "I had my heart broken, yes, by a man playing me like a fool on his grandfather's request who still slept with his harlot on the side. And yes…I did idiotically and irrevocably fall in love with him knowing his family hated my father the most, but was it wrong for me to believe—"

"Forgive me, my lady," interrupted Will as he jerked the apron from his waist and tossed it atop the counter, "but I cannot stand here and argue with you about something I find infinitely pathetic."

The blond made a swift departure, bursting from the kitchen doors with his jaw clenched and a head full of strenuous worry.

"How dare you…y-you impudent brat!" she shouted, chasing after the reluctant boy. "Is that truly how you feel about my situation, William?"

Will threw his arms up with a growl, but went on stomping toward whatever exit was closest to escape to the stables where he could enjoy tending to the horses with the professional in charge.

"I am asking for honesty boy!"

"I have given you as much honesty as I am allowed," he stated through clenched teeth.

"I want the wholesome truth, William. That is my last and only request."

He stopped abruptly, mid-way out the door and turned with a hardened gaze. "You put yourself in that miserable position, my lady, so your actions and words fall out of correspondence. You are hypocritically hiding the truth still lingering in your chest. You want people to pity you so you can turn us away with reasons as to why your love for that man had been nothing but a figment of your imagination or a rebellious fling that meant nothing at the end of the day. You are doing this to best yourself, to change into whatever demon possessed you the evening you nearly killed Robin Talbot and permanently stay there because you feel that is the strength you need."

Will stepped forward as he took a deep breath, keeping his arms firm at his sides because he was adamant about showing his lady the sympathy she desired in order to calm the storm demolishing whatever remained of her sentiments for that man.

"But you knew…my lady…you had always known it was not a salacious scheme to rebel against your father or the inner workings of your mind because you felt it was real until you negated the truth as it unraveled before your eyes," he continued sincerely. "You knew about his actions, too, probably long before he ever committed the mistake and you were certain the second he returned to your side, but you continued lying to yourself because that love stopped you from exposing that side of reality."

Layla blinked the tears from falling and bit her lips as her hands fisted over the fabric of her white dress, emotion threatened to burst from her chest as every derogating accusation sunk in to force open her eyes.

"And…?" she uttered with a pained tone and a hushed voice.

"Robin Talbot deserved it, she did, and I should have said something earlier—"

She struggled to keep her voice from breaking at that point as betrayal latched to her form and began corroding through skin.

"Did you know…_about them_?" she asked accusingly.

His eyes saddened. "About the viscount? No. I did not. But I did know Robin Talbot was toying with your friendship and it was wrong of me to simply dismiss her criticism as envy."

"Envy?"

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. "Forget it, my lady, I spoke out of turn. I am deeply sorry for speaking so…crassly—"

"Yes," she interjected suddenly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Let us forget it. All of it. Forget this entire conversation occurred because it will do us all some good."

He nodded in silence.

She had wanted to take a step back toward her bedroom, but teetered on the idea and shone light on a notion she was not yet comfortable accepting. "Is it pitiful of me to continue loving him?"

"No," he answered. "That truly is admirable."

Layla suppressed a sob.

She could never accept him after his betrayal; even if it killed her…she knew she would never. If she did…she would always live in fear of it occurring again.

Will fixed his waistcoat and straightened out. "The earl is bringing news of Vinnlake Hall."

She nodded. "Thank you, William."

"Yes, my lady."

He bowed appropriately and prepared to excuse himself outdoors when her call abruptly stopped him. He moved back inside and stared at her modestly.

"Yes?"

"If you pay a trip to London you may learn something," she started while gently holding her arms. "Is everyone well?"

He said nothing in response to her behavior.

"By everyone do you mean the Viscount L'Isle?"

She swallowed hard. "I only want everyone's safety to have been ensured."

He smiled mischievously. "Even if it meant addressing the safety of a certain Douglas Gray and Robin Talbot, not to mention the Luisenbarn that made the conclusion of your trip nearly impossible to bear—would you still wish to know?"

"If Mr. Gray and Ms. Talbot, along with the impertinent Nnoitra decided to remain within the burning corridors of Vinnlake Hall, who am I to judge their inane decision?" she questioned nonsensically. "It is none of my business whether they commit suicide or not, is it?"

"No, it is not," her butler responded, humored. "And forgive me for reflecting the earl in any sort of correspondence, but would it concern you whether or not the families have managed a swift escape? Your family is alive and well, so there is no need for your preoccupation."

"You should truly be ashamed of yourself, William; I have half a mind on firing you," she warned jokingly with a mock frown.

He lifted his arms in resignation and smiled apologetically. "I am but a highly opinionated farmer's son that cannot seem to shut his trap when necessary."

She laughed heartedly as she made her way toward the servant's staircase to return to her bedroom. "You are most certainly excused for the remainder of the day," she said, taking on the first few steps with her hand on the railing as she turned to face the cheerful blond. "But if you, perchance, have a few more of those ludicrous jokes of yours, I will be more than willing to listen."

"I do hope I'm allowed riding, beforehand."

She barked out a laugh. "Everyone in this household is allowed to keep a horse to ride with!"

Will certainly enjoyed seeing the smile return to his lady's face because when it remained and it was sincere, she brightened the room with her mere presence. Maybe one day there will be others to acknowledge that gift of hers…and not just him.

* * *

Layla stared at the range of color spilled over her mattress as she stood in nothing but her undergarments with peril serving as the backdrop of this setting. Every servant within the manor—new and old—was rushing to fulfill last minute changes and prepare to meet her father, or simply the earl as everyone preferred to call him. She dismissed the state of alarm behind her while being confronted with a crucial decision as an older maid, Mrs. Jenkins, stood behind her tightening and readjusting her corset, during which she decided on her evening wear.

"How daring would it be for me to wear the red gown?"

"Quite daring, my lady," answered Mrs. Jenkins, huffing as she gave the ribbons of her corset a tug.

"Would it be daring enough to displease my father?"

Will stepped into the bedroom and quickly made his presence known by offering his opinion. "You will wear red because it compliments your skin, and nothing you have ever done has displeased your father…as far as I am concerned."

She regarded the handsomely dressed boy with a furrowed nose. "He hasn't even heard of my rebelling at Vinnlake Hall."

"I would think twice about addressing your Paphian adventure with your father, my lady."

She grunted as Mrs. Jenkins gave another hard tug at her corset, dismissing his impertinence. "You look quite dashing in your new uniform, William."

His cheeks flushed as he began tugging the other gowns from the mattress to return them to the opened dresser after running a duster along the few decorations in her bedchamber to ensure the manor's cleanliness. He had the entire estate cleaned at least three times within the scarce time between their preparations and her father's arrival.

Mrs. Jenkins patted her shoulder to signal she had finished and shot a scrutinizing glance at the boy as he tidied up her bedroom. "Boy."

He straightened out and jerked his attention to the neatly dressed maid at his lady's side. "Yes?"

"Do something about that embarrassing mop of hair. The earl is visiting, not some commoner."

He ran his fingers through his messy blond locks nervously and shot a pleading glance at Layla.

"Oh no," she started, shaking her head. "You do as Mrs. Jenkins says."

"What am I supposed—?"

"I will gladly aid you, boy," interrupted Mrs. Jenkins with a light smile, "after you leave and I finish dressing the lady."

"Ah, excuse me." He pushed a drawer in with his knee and closed the opened dresser doors. He passed by the women with a curt bow and continued out into the corridor where he had ordered the maids to clean whatever needed cleaning.

"I will gladly educate that boy for you, if need be," Mrs. Jenkins propositioned.

She laughed in response. "I might honestly consider your offer."

Mrs. Jenkins helped her dress into a carmine gown made of a thinner, lighter fabric to keep the heat from posing a problem. She continued staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror trying to find a reason to love the ribbons decorating the chest of her dress or the feel of the cuffed sleeves and after various twists and turns of the body she noticed the presence of her guard.

"Mr. Madarame," she called pleasantly, whirling around to face him. "I did not expect you to return so early."

The bald man walked across the room and gestured to a chair, seemingly exhausted. "May I?"

"You may."

He relaxed into his seat and fanned his face with his hand. "It's damned hot out there."

"I heard the weather will continue worsening until the end of the week," she complained, finding a seat upon the lonesome trunk sitting beside the mirror. "I can only dread the remainder of summer."

"The earl asked me to relay all new information to ya, considering you'll be the next leader," he started. "He isn't here yet, right?"

"If you'd prefer to wait for his arrival, I'll be more than willing to remain patient."

"Forget about it," he said dismissively. "I ran into Soifon back in London and sent her to relay the information before he made his trip this morning, whatever I say to you has probably already reached his ears."

She nearly bolted out of her seat with a flurry of excitement, but remained perched upon the trunk like the lady she was. "You saw Soifon?"

He nodded. "She will be arriving here tonight with a few guards from the London house."

"I'll have the guesthouse prepared," she decided quickly with unsuspected excitement. "I already organized your lodgings. So you'll be just as comfortable as you were in London."

"Thanks," he said, struggling to keep up with her. "We should probably get down to the information."

She nodded excitedly. "Yes, of course, please…go on."

Ikkaku cleared his throat. "We have yet to find the rat within the beneficiary, but we have new information on the Fourth Family. The Scotland Yard caught the misfits guilty of committing the first whirl of crimes against the Three Families and were questioned for information on those behind the collective enemy. One of the prisoner's gave a name. James Wedgeworth, the politician currently rising in popularity, but once apprehended the male was quickly released."

"Who opted for his release?"

"George Cornell."

She heard plenty of James Wedgeworth, the high-and-mighty personality was difficult to forget, but George Cornell did not register in the list of names she forcibly memorized by studying that large book her father had given her.

"George Cornell?" she repeated quizzically.

"We have no information on the man and are not sure if the name is an alias or simply a fake to avoid further blunders."

She leaned forward slightly. "Would it not be best to apprehend Wedgeworth once more and send a personal envoy from the family to somehow attain the information necessary?"

"We are most preoccupied ensuring the beneficiary's safety as we speak," he answered curtly. "If you don't have reliable resources, the family loses face and eventually power to remain standing."

"Yes, of course, I understand that they are of vast importance." She nodded and dismissed thoughts from her mind. "What else have you gathered from your travels?"

Will entered her bedroom with a glass of water for her guard and a wineglass for his lady. He received a muttered thanks from the exhausted male and was asked to stay by his lady as she begun drinking.

Ikkaku eyed the boy suspiciously. "Is it—?"

"Oh yes, William knows better than to run his mouth," she stated. "And he will need to know this information for later."

"If you say so," he stated. "Well, the Scotland Yard is under a new chief. It's been a few weeks now."

"What happened to Shinji Hirako?"

"The Queen removed him from his position."

Layla stared at him in disbelief. "Why would the Queen remove him? Is he not revered to be a genius and the most accomplished officer in years? That is obviously a waste of talent."

"The earl has not asked us to investigate the matter any further."

A number of ideas popped into her head as she looked over her choice of words. She definitely had a point. It was a waste of talent to drop Shinji Hirako from the force. He was doing a pleasant job in acquiring information on the Three Families that may eventually incriminate them and lead to imminent demise, but getting dropped by the Queen meant he had done something serious…but he was not dead…which meant it could not have been as bad as her thoughts led her to believe.

"What else do you know about Shinji Hirako?" she asked curiously.

Ikkaku found the inquiry odd, but went onto answer. "He has been avoiding his home and is now wandering the streets with a gypsy called Roxanne Harmon."

The sound of her name was like a string of bells shouting trouble.

"Roxanne may pose a problem," she uttered with her eyes focused on the ground and fingers curled underneath her chin.

Will dropped his gaze to her with a suspicious gleam in his eyes. "What are you plotting?"

She nearly scoffed. "Who said anything about plotting, William?" she questioned, shifting in her uncomfortable seat. "I only want to speak to him."

"What for?" he questioned, exasperated.

"The earl will be against it," reminded Ikkaku.

She turned her attention to her guard fleetingly. "Why?"

"That's a whole different story."

"Did my father say something inappropriate to him?" she asked, bemused.

"And that would be the least of your worries."

She did not fully understand. "I can simply apologize for my father's actions."

"You do understand Shinji Hirako's reason for joining the Scotland Yard to pursue the families' centers around the earl, do you not?" he proffered with an arched eyebrow as he inwardly wondered why his employer decided on her as the next generation's leader.

"Well no, I had no idea, but it may help everyone in this world to understand that I am not my father. I can simply run my proposition by him and hope to receive a preferable response."

Will had remained quiet throughout the conversations' duration, listening carefully to the exchange of information with a thoughtful expression hardening his jovial features. He was in deep thought, seriously considering the words being exchanged and analyzing them down to the last detail.

Once Ikkaku was excused and a maid came bustling inside to inform her of the earl's arrival, Layla took notice of her butler's odd behavior.

"William, my father has arrived."

He snapped out his thoughts and stared at her questionably. "I know exactly what you are plotting."

"Are we to make an argument of this too, William?" she asked sardonically. "And, honestly, if I were actually plotting something I wouldn't be so transparent my butler would take notice." She ignored the roll of his eyes and continued on her way into the corridor, hearing his quick steps behind her. "I have bigger things to think of…like studying the rest of those awful books and tend to my father's visit."

"You do not actually believe Shinji Hirako, the earl's self-proclaimed rival, will yield to the call of his seemingly innocent daughter because you asked him as kindly as possible to join in on your journey to the New World."

Layla stopped abruptly. "I would like you to go to the kitchen and make sure dinner is prepared," she stated kindly. "And when you return, I hope thoughts of this _New World _you speak of disappear from your head."

"Yes, my lady."

He bowed at her side and made a quick jog down the servant's stairwell and down a shortcut into the kitchens as she continued her way to the foyer.

She would also appreciate if that boy stayed as far away from her head as possible. She was not sure she could stand being unwrapped like a present whenever she sprouted an idea and she most certainly resented his notion. She did hope to speak to the ex-chief of the Scotland Yard and proposition him, but the thought of Roxanne being mixed with the man posed more than a passable quandary.

Layla greeted her father in one of the quaint sitting rooms of the manor and seated herself across him as they made small talk.

"Do you like the manor?" he asked.

"I haven't seen anything apart my bedchamber and the kitchen," she admitted dully.

He stared at her in silence as she averted her attention elsewhere.

"I do hope you have not been slacking."

"No. I try to squeeze in a number of books between sleeping and crying myself to sleep," she offered humorlessly.

"Has something occurred, Layla?"

"Actually, I would like to know if everyone in Vinnlake Hall made it out safely," she stated quickly.

Her eyes hardened as she watched a curious smile draw Aizen's lips.

"Very well," he said. "I suppose keeping the information a secret would only upset you. Five beneficiaries perished in the fire that evening as far as officials are concerned and news has already reached their familiars. There is no word on Yamamoto or Luisenbarn at this point, but you needn't worry. They are only playing possum."

Relief swept through her like a gentle wave rolling over the ocean's surface. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Of whom in particular are you asking for?"

A dark feeling quickly tugged free from her body, pouring into her like an oil spill that slowly but thickly covered the waters because her stirred emotions pointed the finger at the words she blocked from her head. "I am merely asking as a courtesy."

"Do you wish to know of the Duke of Burgundy or his brother Lord Gervais?" he started. The smile on his lips evidently meant he was set on toying with her. "Are you worried for Douglas Gray, or perhaps, your newly acquired friends Claire and Neliel are on your mind?"

Robin Talbot was definitely on her Blacklist.

"I am equally worried of each and every one of the guests."

"Including the Viscount L'Isle?"

She leaned back into the couch as the tension between them intensified. He knew and there was no use in hiding it. She was to be brave and get it over with.

"What use is there to continue beating around the bush if you are more than aware of my relationship with the viscount?"

"I am quite disappointed in your actions, Layla."

She wanted to throw something at his face. His tone was slightly biting, but more dismissive like reprimanding a naughty child for having soiled her newly tailored dress. He was pushing it once more.

"Exactly how much do you know?"

"I am quite knowledgeable, Layla, it is a fact you must never question," he responded lightly. "I knew of your relationship with the viscount before it had begun and might have forewarned you of its imminent conclusion."

She did not like that answer.

"Did you know of Robin Talbot?"

"The harlot?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow. "Everyone knew of her, Layla. You should be more perceptive of rumors, sometimes there is truth in lies. But that is not why I decided to pay you a visit. I have someone I would like to introduce."

She was too angry to meet anyone with a pleasant disposition. "Very well."

Aizen ventured out of his seat. "You may come in, Tōsen."

The name sounded familiar and once a dark-skinned male entered the sitting room, Layla nearly jumped out of her seat at the sight of him. She recognized him immediately and struggled not to crudely gesture in his direction.

"I do hope you remember him, it has only been a few months since the first you've met," Aizen started. "He is my most trusted secretary, Kaname Tōsen."

Her father's words began making sense. He knew of her relationship before it actually started and she wondered just how idiotically pathetic one person could be.

"I suppose working as the Luisenbarn's blind driver was a cover."

"It was necessary to ensure your safety, Lady Layla," answered Tōsen crisply.

She almost scoffed. He almost had the carriage ram into her that crisp spring morning when she first met the viscount.

"I appreciate the genuine effort," she stated, looking at both her father and the stranger from over four months ago. "Both of you, but I lost my appetite and will be retiring to my bedchamber." She headed straight for the doorway, her path cleared from obstruction and turned once more. "Make yourself at home, father and _guest_. It will be a pleasure having you here for the remainder of the month."

She might have been guilty to have wished her father had perished in that fire as she made her way up the staircase, but not once did she regret it throughout his stay. He would need to explain his actions in full, even if he refused, she would irk him until she acquired the information. She wanted to know everything he knew, no matter how treacherous or ugly it was…even if it meant acknowledging his carelessness towards her safety.

Layla slammed the door to her bedchamber shut.

She had enough surprises to last her the rest of the day.

She dropped onto her bed and remembered Soifon's mention from earlier. She felt her chest swell with emotion and a smile draw her lips. She expected to hear the greatest of news…but it might have been prudent to anticipate the worst. There was a bit of dread that's sole existence was deflecting the joy from comforting her wounded heart and it was quite easy to switch favors. Her mind wandered on restlessly until she could no longer handle whatever news awaited her with Soifon's arrival. It would be bad.

She turned onto her side and curled her legs as memories of Vinnlake Hall flooded her senses. She recalled the ineffable bliss experienced when she so daringly took a stand against everything she felt would be right, but as easily as the happiness took the reins…the final days tarnished any good memory. She imagined his strong arms wrapping around her waist, whisking her to him and his warm breath tickling the skin of her neck.

Her hand shot to the curve of her neck and a violent shudder shook her until she realized her mind had begun playing cruel tricks on her. She jerked her head back, eyes wide in astonishment, to the emptiness of her bedside and the lackluster beating of her once erratic heart. She would give anything to remain ignorant—anything to pursue the feelings repairing themselves soon after they had been shattered and wanted to rush back into his open arms even if she felt like the embarrassment of proud women everywhere.

She ran her fingers through tangled curls and slumped onto her back with a thoughtful expression.

She was not certain he emerged from Vinnlake Hall unharmed and it worried her to death. She only knew what her father decided to divulged and his words could be mere speculations of the situation. The Luisenbarn and Yamamoto families could be playing possum because it looked to be in their best interest, in fact that tyranny committed against them had quickly circumvented their opinions on whether the idea had been well or a miserable thought. She wondered if her father resented their early departure.

And it occurred to her quite suddenly and she shot up like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes were large.

Her father was in a position to question Soifon's sudden disappearance and if she returned with news on Jaelle—the sort she longed to hear—he would be able to crush whatever hope remained inside her.

She felt her eyes well up in tears and a soft trickle slid over the side from her face.

She hated him.

It was fact and maybe…just maybe it had always been his intention of raising her as such. She grew suspicious of the course of her entire life. How much of it had been her father pulling the strings? How far could supposition take a man?

_Ugh._

She rolled her eyes. _Just what is he plotting handing me the reins in five years?_

On second thought, she would much rather take a nap and chase the nightmares away…as far as possible until they were a dim light in the back of her mind…than wreck her brain to fathom the possibilities.

* * *

"Layla."

The auburn-haired woman stirred from sleep to lift her slumberous eyes to her imposing father. He sat at her bedside, eyes fixed on her unkempt presentation, holding a sealed letter over her shoulder.

Her eye caught the envelope and she swiped it from his fingers as she bolted onto a seat whilst eyeing it suspiciously.

"What is this?"

"A messenger from the Duchess of Cambridge arrived before my departure," he explained, staring at her with equitable skepticism as she flipped it from one side to the other. "Do you intend to read it?"

She gave him an even stare. "Do you mind, father?" she said. "I would enjoy a bit of privacy whilst addressing my friendship with the duchess."

Aizen rose from his seat. "Certainly."

She waited until he stepped out of her bedroom before frantically breaking the seal of her letter and pulling out the slip of paper from within. She hastily unfolded it and admired the neatly handwritten correspondence.

_My dearest Layla,_

_I hope you are ashamed of yourself! I never heard of your premature departure and worried myself to death upon receiving confirmation of the Vinnlake Hall disaster. But before depression forced me to lay waste to a slur of invitations or reevaluate my existence without yours, I received news of your safety. For shame, Layla Aizen! I had to hear this from a third party! How embarrassing? _

_Thought, I must admit, I did not mind the messenger's visit. Jūshirō Ukitake was kind enough to relay the information of the inferno to me. He had been worried that I may have the sort of reaction I did have and he had promised to pay my private manor a visit before my and Elliot's departure. My dearest husband has been unfairly busy these past few days and I feel I see less and less of him with every passing month. If Vinnlake Hall had not required our presence together I may have never notice how awful this feeling truly was. I fear our marriage has finally reached a point where repair is but a mere fantasy and it ails me to come to terms with this reality. _

_I have fallen into a slump, my dearest, and while I wish you were around to speak to I understand the gravity of your situation. I will not force you out of hiding if it is in your best interest, but I do hope we continue exchanging letters through the length of our separation. You are my only dearest friend and I miss you dearly._

_But I do have stable company and I am more than comfortable in my private home._

_I eagerly await your response._

_Your friend,_

_Rovina Stephenson, the Duchess of Cambridge_

Layla bolted to her tiny corner desk where she hastily begun her correspondence to the duchess, excited to have a person to speak to. She thought of asking about Starrk somewhere within her letter. The duchess was a member of the Luisenbarn beneficiary, it would be normal for them to know something, or maybe Jūshirō Ukitake had information he could relay through Rovina and it would calm the turbulence in her chest.

She crumbled the first letter written because she dared write his name and it immediately felt wrong. She continued making the same mistake, went on aggravating herself until she grew exhausted with a mere glance out the opened windows.

The sky was dark and dotted with stars. It was time for her to return to bed.

She decided to put off writing her post until she managed to get Starrk off her mind and rushed into her boudoir to dress into a comfortable nightgown. She returned to bed a few minutes after washing her face in a nearby basin, crawling beneath cool sheets…she drifted into slumber where she dreamt of a garden she would never see again.

But she felt after hours of sleep…there was a gentle touch against her cheek, a caress that felt like a feather running across her face, warmth encased her and soft music lulled her back to slumber.

"_Aishe, my child, my love._"

What a wonderful dream, she thought opening her eyes to a shadowy blur hovering above her head and the soft fingers threading through her hair. She wanted to sleep forever.

* * *

Soifon entered the countryside manor in the dead of night after experiencing a slur of unhealthy complications in fulfilling Layla's pleading request. She dreaded the mere recollection of the nightmarish peril she faced to come in contact with Jaelle Harmon's keeper and an even heftier experience convincing the woman to come along in exchange for seeing the daughter she lost as a mere child. Even then, she met with refusal and was given a list of rational reasons as to why her daughter's request was for naught. She understood that from the start. There was no need to worry about Jaelle Harmon because she was under the constant protection of some powerful, unmentionable names. It was advised for her to continue breaking the woman's heart by keeping her separated from her mother through rumored death, but it was in her best interests to comply with her wishes because they were not selfish.

Layla pleaded for her mother's safety, kneeled before her with tears running down her face hoisting a burden too large for that frail body to withstand and begged. She would give anything and it was impossible for Soifon to dismiss her conviction. And she emerged the victor.

A woman with vivid red curls pattered behind her noisily crashing into the doorframe upon entering the kitchen through a secret corridor opening beneath a brick archway that once served as the construction of an antique stove. She stumbled back, green eyes wide in astonishment as she rubbed the pain on her shoulder to subside.

"We should have brought a lantern," suggested the merry redhead after shooting the large kitchen a thorough glance. She held a thin, black cloak together that hid the colorful frills of the uncomfortable riding habit forced onto her.

Soifon hissed, pulling a finger over her lips to silence the boisterous woman and continued surreptitiously leading her through the manor knowledgeable of the earl's stay. She stayed privy to the consequences she would be facing once Jaelle Harmon decided to open her mouth and announce her arrival because she heard enough of the woman to understand she was an uncontrolled force that had questionable tales to keep an overcrowded congregation entertained.

Sometimes the petite guard mentally accused the woman of liking the sound of her voice too much. She nearly talked her ear off during their carriage ride, excitedly recalling the few memories she had of _Aishe, Roxanna, and Rye_ as children.

The two made it through a few long corridors before Jaelle halted abruptly a step from climbing up a hidden stairway. Soifon snapped toward her, ushering her to continue upward with a curt whisper, but the woman's eyes were fixed with indescribable rage…and slowly she followed the gypsy's gaze to the shadow of her lord, the earl of the estate.

The short woman took a step down, straightening out and bowing deeply. "Forgive—"

"You are dismissed, Soifon," he interjected briskly, unable to tear his eyes from the ghost of his past and whatever memory remained of their encounters.

Soifon offered her most pitiful look and directed it at the redhead who may not have noticed it as she rushed down the staircase and out of sight.

Jaelle felt an unearthly need of kicking Sōsuke Aizen as he stepped before her to level their gazes and do it repeatedly until he croaked with her name on his lips. She could not contain her anger and recalled the crisp direction the girl had provided. If she took the staircase and a left down the following corridor, she would meet the master bedroom at the end of that hall. She only needed to bypass the nuisance.

"You are absolutely timeless, Jaelle."

_Spit in his face. Spit in his face. Spit in his face._

Her resentment towards the man created a larger gap between her and her children. It was the cause of her heartache and this devilishly handsome man—she damned him upon thinking such unhealthy thoughts—was the root of all evil and had nothing but malevolence to spread amongst the innocent. She needed to put an end to his façade.

"Will you prevent me from reuniting with Aishe, as well?"

He chuckled, the same laugh that made him seem otherworldly…like he could do no wrong.

Bitter memories blurred reason.

"Layla is her name," he responded calmly.

"Her name is Aishe," she started heatedly. "I gave her that name. I called her after my grandmother and raised—"

"She is known to society as Layla," he finished imposingly.

"In spirit she is Aishe," she countered snappishly.

He looked the slightest bit annoyed. "We will not quarrel—"

"No," she interjected. "We will not, _you devil_."

His eyebrow twitched, she noticed beneath the moonlight's dim illumination emerging from the open windows to a nearby sitting room. He strode past her without sparing her a glance. "Do as you will."

Her heart skipped a beat and excitement filled her as she continued up the staircase disregarding their meeting, but halted suddenly after feeling his fixation. It took everything inside her to muster the courage and swallow her pride so far down it threw her a few years back when she cradled a trembling child. A flash of memories caused her eyes to shut tightly as she listened to his steps halt before the doorframe into the adjacent kitchen and struggled to forget the bloody images that may have forever scared her eldest child. She recognized the good. That would be enough to get the words out of her.

"Aizen," she called sternly. "I do not forgive you, but I do, however, thank you from the bottom of my heart for raising Aishe and providing for Rye and Roxanne in my lengthy absence."

The man turned in the midst of silence as the ambience between the two intensified and emotions bubbled over the pot.

"I will remain wary of your intentions, Jaelle, but I will advise you," he started evenly. "There is nothing you can do to still Layla's decisions and even if you found a way to outsmart me, I would advise you to swallow that pride of yours. Do not obstruct the path paved for our daughter's sake; you will be the only one to blame if something were to happen to her."

Jaelle scoffed and ransacked the remainder of steps with a worsened disposition.

She clung to every reason she had to hate that man and salvage what remained of a deteriorating memory that helped guide her into the right direction, though it seemed wrong for years knowing there were three children—her babies—growing and living without ever knowing the truth behind her decisions. Aishe may recall as she was the eldest at the time, but before she, as her mother, could react rationally in the midst of murder and a blurring haze of rain…the sequence of horrific events concluded and her child had been ripped from her bosom. She desired to be strong enough to cope, wished a scrawl of that wanton emotion that at various intervals had seemed to exist with her in overabundance, and hold Roxanne and Rye as if to shield their eyes from witnessing the death of their father—to obliterate the dreadful memory if possible. But fragile hands are unable to become strong and weak stability could not go unnoticed as a shadow weighed heavily on her shoulders that pushed her onto the ground in sheer agony. She ached until she no longer felt.

Jaelle reached the second floor and took a left into the darkened corridor with newfound excitement as the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Shadows danced along the paintings hung on every wall and the scent of flowers intoxicated her senses as bouquets of various arrangements sat inside elaborate vases that caught her eyes. The moonlight drifted and feathered and specks of dust danced along her peripherals, anxiety ailed her tumultuous heart.

Aishe would be a woman. Twenty-two. It meant thirteen years since they last met, fourteen almost. She feared rejection from having vanished for so long without so much as reaching out to either one of her children and living inside a protective bubble for that same length of time while everyone who ever knew the name Jaelle Harmon believed her to be dead.

She was dead for years until the nightmares perished from her dreams and slowly the cloud lifted from her eyes.

She halted in front of twin doors as a distant melody reached her ears, the sound of a piano. She turned swiftly recognizing the piece of music and her eyes dropped to the ground as her fingers twiddled with the flimsy fabric beneath her coat. It soothed and pained her as she worked up the courage to take the handles in her hands, turned, and pushed open those weighted doors. The hinges creaked noisily and light flooded her vision, wind brushed hair from her face, knocking the hood from her head to reveal a splay of orangey red hair.

The bedroom was gargantuan and elegantly furnished with high windows framed by fluttering mahogany drapes. Perfume lingered in the air, the scent thinned by the constant breeze. She pushed the old doors closed behind her quietly and moved toward the four-poster bed to her left to find a lump underneath a thin coverlet.

She held her breath while leaning over the bed with a curious gaze, a mixture of emotions threaded her insides. She reached forward, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek and in the process running the pads of her fingertips over the woman's skin…rousing her from sleep. She panicked and slinked onto the mattress with a gentle bounce, tears sprouted into her eyes as her eldest daughter looked to her with glassy brown orbs.

She recognized that face anywhere but she had matured into a woman and whispered anxiously. "Aishe, my child, my love."

She moved back with a scrutinizing eye and tilted her head to the side as her fingers threaded through her auburn locks.

"You have my nose…I think."

Tears ran down her cheeks, trickling and splashing onto her daughter's face. She pushed all the stupid, resentful thoughts running through her head as unfathomable glee strummed in her veins. She felt fulfilled—so happy she could die.

* * *

"Hell incarnate!"

Will shouted as he jolted back, dropping a tray full of his mistress' breakfast—the platter of food and glass of juice smashing over the wooden floors.

"Shh, shh! This is beyond noisy!"

Layla bolted onto a seat, eyes blurry and mind a jumbled mess. She hazily searched the perimeter for her noisy butler until she spotted him standing in front of the fancy wardrobe with his hands held high and an unfamiliar woman climbing out of the armoire.

"What is wrong with you today, you devil's child?"

Will shot her a pleading glance after acknowledging the appalling mess between him and the stranger to which she stared equally perplexed at the unfamiliar woman, though the air was tinged with a strong sense of nostalgia.

"Who are you?" she asked groggily.

The woman dressed in a gray riding habit stood with a guilty expression in her matured features. She was an older woman with high cheekbones and a straight nose and billowing curls that framed a heart-shaped face.

"That…" drawled an irritated voice behind her. Snapping her attention towards her father standing in the doorway with Soifon a distance behind him, her body froze in complete utter shock as the words following his entrance shot through her like a bullet. "…would be your mother. By blood at least."

Will's mouth dropped instantaneously.

Layla turned to the woman she only recalled by memory and realized the faint similarities Roxanne and Rye shared with her—same eyes and their skin tone, though hers was a smidgen lighter, would be on the same palette.

Jaelle smiled gleefully, trying to bypass the hurtful reactions and waved a daintily gloved hand. "Hello, Aishe."

"Layla," corrected Aizen.

"Aishe," pressed Jaelle.

Somehow, she could not believe it as she watched the two childishly berate each other over her name and shot a fleeting glance to her butler, who stood perfectly still as he followed the arguments proceeding—until it ended abruptly.

Aizen turned to Layla, ignoring Jaelle's fighting words. "We have a _private _discussion pending this afternoon and hope you and…_this_…" he shot the redhead a disparaging look, "_woman_ are good and settled by then." He regarded her butler. "I would encourage you tidied the mess and allowed them some privacy, William."

Will jolted at the sound of his voice and uttered a stream of apologies while picking up his mess. Aizen departed with Soifon following suit and immediately after Will finished cleaning and informed her that he would remake breakfast…then Layla was alone with Jaelle, her birthmother.

She could do nothing but stare for various long minutes as if memorizing every inch of the woman's face and placing it in every hazed memory she had of her until the pieces clung together.

"Are you…?" her voice croaked as emotion welled up in her chest.

Jaelle smiled bitterly, eyes dimming as they grew sad. "If you will forgive me."

Tears rushed down her cheeks as she sloppily untangled herself from the sheets and rushed into her mother's arms with her heart beating in her head. Every form of emotion leaked from her pores—a flux of various sentiments that had been cooped up inside came flooding like raging ocean waves until she lost control. Warm arms enveloped her, the soft voice whispered to her as it had in every wonderful dream she experienced in her mother's absence, and her body trembled in the same rhythm as hers. They were, together, a jumbled expression of uncontrolled emotion that had both of them sobbing incoherent phrases. Most of what Jaelle uttered were vast apologies for which she solely blamed herself for allowing Aizen to get his grimy hands on her, but the way she phrased her reprisal had them laughing with tears in their eyes as they pulled away from one another to regard and see that truly did occur—this encounter.

And there were questions, many. And they came in a flurry as Layla laughed at her unladylike appearance as her hair laid a tangled mess, eyes red with tears, and snot running from her nose.

"I feel like I am dreaming," she whispered looking at Jaelle. "I cannot fathom—"

Jaelle held her by the arms tightly in reassurance herself. "I am here, Aishe," she stated strongly, "and I will stay as long as you will have me."

Layla nodded repeatedly. "Yes, of course, forever if possible. I don't care what my father says."

"I don't care either."

She chuckled and dropped her head, feeling her mother's hands rise to her cheeks and her lips on her forehead.

"I need you now more than ever, mama." The tide overwhelmed her. "I needed you so much these past few months."

Jaelle drew her back into a stronger embrace and allowed the tremulous girl to cling to her. If she decided to never let her go, oh how happy she would be, and patted her head with another reassuring kiss to her forehead. "Whatever you need," she said. "If I can help you in anything…I would gladly sacrifice my life to give it to you."

* * *

"You will be twenty-three soon, no?"

Layla remained in her mother's soothing presence with her head on her lap and body splayed over the mattress as the woman ran her fingers through her hair.

She nodded. "But the fete will not be until the end of the year to continue with my father's lie."

"Oh yes," agreed Jaelle. "He decided to raise you as Sun-sun non-identical twin to avoid salacious rumors." She looked down to her daughter's surprised expression. "You do not think me capable of forgetting about my children, do you? I know all there is to know and I must admit Roxanne is out of control. She was exiled from the caravan for getting involved with the ex-chief of the Scotland Yard. Have you not tried speaking to her?"

Layla lowered her gaze to the bows of her nightgown. "Roxanne and I walk on rocky ground. She blames me for Vandlo—" she stopped herself short, checking her mother's expression to see her only smiling with a hint of disappointment. She could not muster the words to finish her sentence.

"Vandlo did not die because of you," Jaelle said calmly, "he died for you. He loved you just as much as he did his own children and did everything he possibly could to keep the family together, but—" she took a shaky breath. "If anyone is to blame for his death, it would be mine to shoulder."

Her eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change in her mother's tone. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I provoked your father."

"Provoked?"

She took another breath, sharper and assured. "I hid my pregnancy from your father when he decided to severe our ties to marry the lovely Countess Magadalia, regardless; I do not believe I would have given him the pleasure of knowing I had fallen to such a state. He wanted her title and the influence her family provided to further delve into territory that now resents him and solely decided I was a toy he could discard after fulfilling his temporary goal. I knew the consequences of being with child and Vandlo offered his help. He begged me to allow him to partake in my little misadventure and promised to take the burdens from my shoulders were I to accept his marriage proposal. I accepted fearing the penalties I may face for becoming the mistress of an aristocrat, being who I am, and I knew exile was inevitable unless I said yes.

I never saw your father for three years until one spring morning the adventurer in you decided to explore the London streets and you rammed straight into him. He saw me and you and well, you really can't fool that man. He's like unbelievably—"

"He knows everything," offered Layla with a curt nod.

"He makes you hate everything, too," her mother agreed. "I can't even stand looking at him!"

Layla chuckled alongside her mother before she jumped back onto an untold story, one she could not fully recall.

"He hunted me down, threatened me, and asked me to come to this exact manor when you were a child. He wanted you and offered me everything imaginable to keep you—even going as far as offering me his title and allowing me to remain by your side so long as you remained in this manor for him. He allowed me an hour to think, he was sure I would compromise in order to ensure your safety. He gave me time so the length of his daunting words finally crushed me and I forked over my daughter, but I did not. I merely picked you into my arms and left without saying a word."

She stared at her mother quizzically and received a reassuring smile.

"You were too young to recall."

Her body had tensed but she forced it back into relaxing against the comfort of her mother's lap and closed her eyes to continue listening to the soft chime of her voice. The sweet sound could easily lull her into an endless slumber; even introduce her to a world of vast fantasy where she could forget the peril rushing over the horizon.

She nodded wordlessly, taming a sudden range of emotion.

"I do not understand that man's reason to do what he did, but I did know that it had been my fault for arriving to the countryside to see him with our child in arms. I almost meant to start a war I could not win against a man of his caliber, but I was too proud to ignore the catastrophe awaiting me because of my meddling with the aristocrat." She laughed amusingly while facing Layla. "I never thought of warning Vandlo because for a split idiotic second I figured Aizen could do no wrong because I had what he seemed to want most.

And so, in the crux of spring and summer while the weather had grown dreary and a stretch of storm clouds cluttered the blue sky—you always loved the time between seasons and thunderstorms and liked the drum of the water hitting the giant tarps because it lulled you to sleep." The seemingly distant recollection brought the largest smile to her face and she was amazed to see the fondness in her daughter's expression…almost as if she herself faintly remembered the times she giggled so loudly with every rumbling thunder and how the heavy rainfall strummed in her mind until her eyes grew drowsy. "Do you remember Aishe?"

"I still enjoy thunderstorms."

Jaelle looked to the ceiling in wonder, blatantly evading the conclusion of her tale and the guilt it may induce where she to finally admit the truth. By then, Layla had grown curious as to how the provocation ensued but at the same time, she could divulge what occurred from what had already been spoken.

Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted. Layla reached for her mother's hand as she sat up and turned her body in her direction.

"You don't need to explain why Vandlo died. I recall little, but from what I gather from my memory is that no one but my father was to blame and you may or may not have acted as a catalyst—truthfully, I no longer care so long as you are still alive and well and that I reached you before my father's men had."

Jaelle slid her hand over Layla's face with a bitter smile. "Why are you so perceptive?" she whispered as her gaze turned sad. "You have done nothing but see right through me this entire time."

Layla giggled while dropping her head and shook it. "That is ridiculous, mama."

Her mother nodded, cupping her cheeks. She stared her square in the face, admiring her because there would never be enough time to digest how much her eldest had grown and it made her wonder just how bigger her youngest were now. She only heard about each of her children but never had a chance to steal a glance even if she was close enough to do it. She had a series of limitations and boundaries she could not cross to live without quandary. She knew about the contract made to keep her safe.

"You are so much older now, you were but a child the last I saw of you and it amazes me how grown you are," she continued in a hushed tone. "You are a woman now."

That man had deprived her of watching her children grow, of living a lovely life with her newly acquired husband that waited years until she finally felt a modicum of the emotions he felt for her, and she would have never been exiled from the caravan because of her mistakes.

But Layla shook her head and swallowed hard, pushed the raging emotions as far down as possible until everything stopped fluctuating. "I am not even close to being a woman, not now…not for a long time…"

"Why?" she asked quietly, raising her head. "Has something happened?"

Layla shot a fleeting glance at the clock until she realized she had too little time to spend in her mother's presence before leaving to meet her father in the study. She looked back to Jaelle with a leveled gaze and nodded.

"There is plenty of time to discuss my quandaries once I return from my meeting with my father." She slid from the bed and smoothed out the wrinkles on her loose gown.

Jaelle stared at her suspiciously. "What sorts of exchanges happen throughout these meetings?"

"We have many discussions ahead of us, my father and I," she said morosely. "I dug my own grave when I shouldered my father's burden for something that seems so stupid now." She pivoted towards her mother's direction as she started toward the door and continued walking backward. "But there will be a time and place to converse and I should probably not keep him waiting for obvious reasons. Feel free to enjoy the manor, there are many wonderful places to explore—the inside and out. If you need anything William will fulfill all your requests and he does everything to perfection, his deserts are especially amazing. And Soifon has been assigned to guard you if you step out of the house for whatever reason. Be careful."

Jaelle could hardly keep up with everything said, her head was spinning and Layla was in the exact same situation.

She was beyond ecstatic and ready to create schedules in which she could spend the everyday alongside her mother without any complications. In fact, she thought of getting one of the maids to do it—surely, there would be plenty of things to do around the house when she wasn't discussing business with her father. As far as she knew, the topic to that day's discussion involved Jaelle and a few other issues that needed to be addressed, including _their _underground businesses.

After stepping out of her bedroom, she stuck her head back inside as her mother bounced off the bed and stared at her excitedly. "I will see you at dinner."

"I cannot wait."

* * *

"What are we discussing today?"

Layla took the seat across her father in a square table as his secretary, whose five senses were fully functional, served tea on the new tea set they received as a gift from the Duke of Burgundy.

Aizen picked up his cup and eyed its ceramic design. "He was quite taken with you," he said, deviating from her inquiry as he gestured to Tōsen, who fished a letter from inside his coat to place onto her opened hand. "He left a letter addressed to me asking permission to continue visiting you."

She stared at him quizzically while unfolding the letter and skimming through the generous composition scrawled in beautiful script. She found the part he regarded with the most attention as the rest was a plethora of compliments about their business arrangements and dropped the slip of paper over her lap.

"Is it my business whether or not you allow him?"

He took a sip with his eyes fixed on her, and drew the cup from his lips. "If you wish to continue meeting with the Duke of Burgundy, it will be your decision."

She hated the suspicious feeling that left a sense of forewarning as she revised the letter once more.

"I will consider it," she answered crisply.

She would definitely consider it, but it may be after she grew accustomed to spending as much time with her mother as possible and built around it. If she found time to spare afterward, she may think of inviting the Duke of Burgundy over because she might want male company…someone enjoyable, a man that could keep a smile on her face with the wittiest of sayings. She wanted all those things to keep one man from her mind, even though she worried herself whenever she allowed it and mulled over things she felt were her mistake.

Tōsen drew papers from the desk behind the seating arrangement and appeared at Aizen's side to place them in his hands. The conversation between them got underway the second those documents fell into her father's hands and she sat with an air of professionalism, ears wide open.

"Arrangements to work with the other families have been made," he started straightly, sending a whirl of questions through her mind as she stared at him dumbfounded. One needed a foundation before making such unexpected revelations; it would have given her enough time to fathom the notion. "Vinnlake Hall was prearranged to counter the problems caused by the elusive Fourth Family, though I refuse to acknowledge them as a formidable adversary, they managed to get underneath my skin and it is time to eliminate them."

Her eyebrows furrowed as she placed her tea upon the adjacent table. "Has the Fourth Family become that much of a threat to you?"

"Us," he corrected. "You are as responsible for this family as I am; there is no need to omit yourself from the issue."

She rolled her eyes and turned her face toward the drawn curtains.

"They are prepared to initiate a war with all three clans to obstruct businesses, imprison us and/or have us murdered until power returns to their rightful owners. It is a righteous sect of individuals and we are not fully convinced that is their only purpose after the attack and burning of Vinnlake Hall."

"What do you suspect they are plotting?"

He remained silent for a lengthy amount of time, building tension between them. "We are either being scared or murdered out of practice and it would be impractical for us, who are currently in their midst like sitting ducks, to jump to conclusions at our ends. And so, the discussion was made and confirmed, the families will be making another temporary treaty, one that is meant to last so long as the fourth party exists to obstruct our personal lives. But…"

"But…?"

"My treaty with the Luisenbarn differs from our agreement with the Yamamoto."

"In what sense?"

And she feared the words that would leave his lips.

"Luisenbarn and Aizen will unite in terms of politics," he explained smoothly, earning dissatisfaction from his daughter. "While they have immeasurable power in comparison to us or even the Yamamoto, who has chosen a neutral standing in our predicament, we hold what they most want: knowledge and it was quite easy to divulge from that understanding. Luisenbarn found it hard to resist my offer and automatically took it, of course I have a few accounts to settle with him after he ordered his eldest to enamor you and ruin your reputation before the end of this year's Season."

She bristled. She gritted her teeth to avoid shouting up a storm in the middle of a serious conversation. "And what sort of unification do the Luisenbarn and Aizen have in mind? Might I ask, of course, I would not wish to ruin the surprise?"

A malicious smile drew his lips. "There won't be any surprises for you, Layla—consider this training—as you will be granted access to all the information I gather on a daily basis."

"I do suppose this job has it quirks," she muttered, looking to him stringently. "And the plan?"

"Marriage."

"Marriage?"

He nodded curtly. "Marriage." He had another leisure sip of his tea. "We will receive a few temporary visitors until the contract is finalized."

She stared at her father dumbfounded. The course of the conversation went beyond her expectations and she was starting to wish she had never been entitled to all the information.

"W-what?" she nearly cried.

"I hope you will be prepared to greet our guests this evening."

"I plan to spend time with my mother this evening," she said snappishly.

"Have your mother dressed to greet your guests," he offered. "Either way, you will meet and welcome them. This is your home."

She growled and rolled her eyes. Her focus suddenly shifted, the unification finally sinking in and shot her father a distasteful glance. "Wait—marriage?"

* * *

**Thanks**: rainy-lullaby, ookawa, and Starfire8001 for reviewing the previous chapter.

**x L i l i m**:

It's a long chapter. I know. The action was done on purpose. I figured that since I would be gone for a lengthy amount of time that I would return with extra long chapters to compensate. I hope I did well with this chapter...in terms of length (that it did not bore you to death) and content. If I get positive feedback on the action, I may continue posting lengthy chapters until after my busy life lets up and allows me to have a moderate updating schedule.

I am excited to write the next chapter, but am facing too much uncertainty as to whether or not I should follow the direction I had planned beforehand and because I no longer have a trusted companion to help me regulate ideas and give me the OK on certain crazy stunts, I am taking the reins and running wild. If things get a bit crazy, tell me. I'll try to cut it out.

Thank you for reading. :)

And if you celebrate it, Happy Easter. :D


	35. Compromising Emotion

**Masquerade**

Chapter 35

-_**Compromising Emotion**_-

_Make mistakes._

_And do never forget them._

_You will mature._

"Marriage to whom?" demanded Layla, nearly jumping out of her seat as she struggled to process the mere thought of a wedding.

"You are overreacting, Layla," her father started. "The marriage will be decided during tomorrow evening's conference."

"What kind of sick idea is this?" she cried. "A merger sounds saner than marriage, you can agree to disagree, return some of the businesses you have stolen from the Luisenbarn—I can make a list of things we can arrange to avoid the idea of marriage." She was prepared to run straight into her bedroom after the conversation concluded and start jotting down a thousand different suggestions. "This is unfair to Sun-sun, Halibel, and Mila."

Aizen stared at her amusedly without saying a word in response to her _concerns_ and the next things addressed between them had nothing to do with the shocking news, but she found ways to circumvent every topic to return to her biggest worry. She named her sister and cousins trying to elicit a reaction out of him. She figured he might point one of them out and say who they would marry within his family. Would all three be married to three members of the Luisenbarn? Did she actually count in this bowl of mistakes and would she be asked to marry the fourth? Whoever the fourth may be. And maybe she was thinking too much about the idea of marriage. She thought she may have a few more years before someone dared propose to her and she certainly wanted to be in love, though it was not unusual in aristocratic match-ups. Most mothers would advise their daughters that love would grow from the marriage…with time.

She continued changing the subject until the conversation concluded and she excused herself, not having heard a single word after marriage's unlawful mention.

Aizen stood as she opened the door, glaring at its wooden surface remorselessly.

"And Layla," he called.

She snapped toward him, eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Only one marriage is necessary to settle the agreement," he explained. "The Luisenbarn has already made their choice, yours is to choose whether you, your sister, or cousins will be the one's partaking in the arrangement."

She slammed the door as loud as possible and rushed straight to her bedroom to figure out how to deal with it. Her head clouded and she had a feeling she wanted to throw a couple things around before to vent her frustration before turning up to face her guests with a charming smile.

Layla burst into her bedchamber, startling her mother and butler. Will nearly spilled the tea he poured and Jaelle jumped out of her seat in preoccupation as her head snapped toward the woman falling face-first into her pillow.

"Are you well, Aishe?"

She heard her mother's skittish steps approaching and could see the woman's body cast a long shadow over hers.

"Excuse me—"

At the sound of Will's voice, Layla jerked upward to direct a frightening glare at her butler, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Sit."

"Y-yes ma'am," he sputtered, taking the nearest seat with a silver tray in his hands.

Jaelle frowned once Layla buried her face back onto the bed and took a seat beside her, shooting a skeptic glance at the butler. Both could not divulge a reason for her sudden change in demeanor, but deep down inside it was evident.

"Did that awful man upset you?" cooed Jaelle lovingly. The woman's fingers threaded through her hair once more and rubbed her scalp.

Layla crawled over to her mother's lap once more, pulling the coverlet along with her to keep her frustration from exploding, and nodded in response. The weight of her mother's arm rested upon her shoulder as the other hand slinked through her curls.

"What did he do?"

"He is plotting a marriage," she uttered begrudgingly.

"A marriage between whom?"

"Between Aizen and Luisenbarn."

Jaelle blinked. "That sounds a tad unorthodox."

"Between a woman and man, mama," she cried exasperatedly.

Will straightened out and with a gulp contributed to the makings of a terse conversation. "That is quite unfortunate mistress," he remarked solemnly. "Is that the reason why your father requested we prepare two bedrooms by this evening?"

Sometimes she wanted to kill that boy. She bolted onto a seat, glaring at him intensely. "If my father asks you to do something, you best relay it to me," she stated, bristled. "This is my home and though he can continue making as many orders as he wishes, does not give him the right to continue being secretive about it."

He set the silver tray atop the table and stood to bow apologetically. "My apologies, mistress," he said, "but he had only just given the order before your meeting commence, thus giving me no time to relay the information."

She felt stupid over reprimanding him and sighed. "Forgive me, I should have asked first."

Jaelle smiled while twiddling her thumbs. "Don't tell me you're getting married with your beau, the Viscount—"

Will cleared his throat loudly. "I would not recommend finishing that sentence, madam."

Layla sank back into bed, huddling underneath the thick, suffocating coverlet until she felt beads of sweat forming at her temples. How outrageous was the news to spread as far as reaching her mother? Did she actually know the events of Vinnlake Hall? No, she wouldn't. If she was knowledgeable about them, she may have never tried mentioning that man's name.

"Did something occur?" she questioned.

"William!"

Will took his mistress's cry for help and once more cleared his throat to indulge the woman's mother with the information. "My lady no longer holds attachments towards the Viscount L'Isle because of the Vinnlake Hall melodrama."

"Melodrama?"

"He pursued the lady until she accepted his advancements, but had secretly been seeing his _ex_-mistress simultaneously," he took a breath. "The mistress suspects he and his entire family spent every day laughing at her quixotic emotions towards the Viscount L'Isle."

"But I thought it started as a ruse before developing into love. He did ask her to run away with him, did he not?"

Layla questioned her mother's words, finding it strange for her to know something they shared in the Great London Bridge in scarce company with a beautiful view of the stars.

"You're mumbling, Aishe, please speak up."

She pulled the coverlet from her face as she rolled onto her back, cringing uncomfortably at the sudden jab at her side from the tightly wound corset. "How do you know that?"

Her mother smiled sheepishly. "I did say I had been keeping an eye on you, my dearest Aishe."

"Exactly how much do you know?"

"As much as that since the families disappeared to Vinnlake Hall, all my connections were severed until you asked Miss Soifon to retrieve me from my resting place." She smiled guiltlessly, taking her daughter's hand in hers and looking her in the eyes. Glassy green orbs glittered with compassion and filled her with love. "If you truly did care of him at that precise moment, enough to consider his request, why did you not run with him?"

Layla dropped her shoulders and lowered her gaze, unable to look into the compassion expressed in her mother's eyes and being able to sit through it without growing frustrated. But even she had various weaknesses her feeble character could not overcome.

"Things could have been avoided."

"You have absolutely no confirmation of that!" she cried, bouncing off the bed. "And whether my acceptance that evening would have made a difference is something you have no way of determining!"

Jaelle had jumped out of her seat to follow after the infuriated woman. "Aishe, dear—"

She whirled around, brown eyes ablaze; "I want to be alone!" she stated and stormed out of her bedroom.

Her mother halted with a worrisome expression and would have done anything to rush after her daughter and force her to listen, even though it seemed impossible to accomplish. She never thought she would ever cross the line with her, but it had long ago become obvious. Aishe could be the mirror image of her youth and have the duplicitous eyes of her father while maintaining a grace that solely belong to her, but she was no longer that tremulous child clinging to her bosom. She was Layla without prevarication—someone she needed to get to know from scratch. She hardly understood at all.

Will appeared at her side. "Excuse my insolence, Miss Harmon." He drew her attention instantaneously and cleared his throat. "The occurrences of Vinnlake Hall weigh heavily on my mistress' shoulders. If you had attended and watched how every day spent turned her into the epitome of melancholy, you may be able to understand her reasoning for the outbursts."

Jaelle fisted her hands at her sides, an accusing thought scurrying past her mind. "I am quite ignorant, William," she uttered forlornly, "in remedying that child's nightmares."

"She will be well in a matter of minutes," he assured her, stepping out of the bedroom. "She only needs time to think."

The door shut behind the boy quietly and she was left inside the gargantuan room with her woes. Even so, she could not understand how a luxurious life, a climb in society's latter managed to condemned her daughter to misery. Had she not suffered enough? After witnessing murder and the events succeeding the horrid scene and forcibly being taken from her mother to be forced into a household full of strangers that resented her where there was no love inside a grandeur home, but there were smiles and fibs and deception and wrong and hate.

Jaelle wished it to end as she had many years ago, but this time she had the strength she lacked. She would not commit the same mistakes. Not again. For the sake of her children.

* * *

Layla fled her mansion and took the gravel path until it disappeared into a field of tall grass sinking into a slope toward the stables, but she sought to go further. If she were able to lose herself in the overabundant apple orchid she would and gladly remain among the blossoming trees until nightfall when the hatred boiling inside her body reached a settling calm. But she felt ignominious and guilty and stupid. She allowed her weakness to show and let it defensively refute her mother's curious inquiries. Even as she attempted to forget the occurrences of Vinnlake Hall and the course in which her love developed—to the point she could no longer breathe without his presence or sleep without his arm languidly draped around her body. If his scent did not fill her, she could not rest easy, and if his lips could not kiss her in ardor she surely might die. She loved him to the point she found it ridiculous.

How could she consider it affection when it sounded obsessive and forlorn? Was not love meant to be merry? It had its faults, of course, but had its inception not been one of which both can feel unfathomable joy knowing they were in each other's presence.

She hated thinking about it. She thought twice of running back indoors to apologize to her mother, but she couldn't bring herself to do it after seeing the older woman's face twist into what seemed like sadness.

She continued forward until she managed to lose herself in the orchid and sunk underneath the shade of the trees. The sun beamed overhead intensely and the heat stilled. She held her face in her hands as she fought back the unmistakable urge to cry and whatever emotion threatened to push her into melancholy's grip once more.

Time passed at inconsiderable speed as she weighed her options.

* * *

"Don't think me foolish," drawled Jaelle after brazenly bursting through the doors of Aizen's quiet office. "And I may not be as desirably informed, but I understand that whatever plagues Aishe is your doing."

The man leaned back into his seat, holding a cup of tea in his hand while staring at her in amusement. "I am not always the instigator, Jaelle. Life is a mysterious thing and one can't fully control any aspect."

He had been freed of company and left to wallow in his many ploys and investments. He decidedly took his afternoon tea inside his study expecting to spend it alone when she arrived unannounced.

"I know better," she said sternly. "You never leave any matter outside a large plan. I don't suspect you allowed Aishe to meet the Viscount L'Isle without knowing she would fall in love with him. You used a precariously brittle relationship to play with her innocence."

"I merely retaliated."

"By inconsiderately ruining your daughter's first love?" she demanded, rage lit in her narrowed eyes. "What benefit could come about her confusion?" She slammed the doors shut behind her upon hearing skittish steps gathering to eavesdrop. Nobody was aware of her true identity. Everyone knew her as Miss Harmon and thought her to be a close acquaintance of the earl—which she was not! "Have you taken the time to see the consequences of your treacherous actions? She rushed out of the mansion in tears."

Aizen set his cup atop its matching saucer and twined his fingers together as a devilish smile drew his lips. "In time, she will learn to be grateful of my _treacherous actions_."

"So she can resent her own father? So she can become like you, who resented every family you ever possessed including the Countess Magadalia? And your beloved Clementine? And Duchess Lorraine?"

"You certainly are impertinent, Jaelle," he said, rising from his seat. "But as you have willingly come to become my prisoner, I will clarify your doubts." She cringed and moved backward as he came to a halt before her. His hands clamped onto her arms to immobilize her. "Layla is my heir and it is in her jurisdiction to choose whether or not she _resents _me once her training concludes, but as you probably know better, you may agree she is a delicate, incorrigible thing than needs to be broken. Her sole function is to lead this family to prosperity, marry, and bear children that will continue the example set by their mother and myself."

"How dare you?" she spat, struggling against his grip. "How dare you use my daughter—?"

"Your daughter?" he asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think yourself worthy to call her your daughter?"

Jaelle continued fighting against his tightening grip and felt the tears stretch along the rims of her eyes. "You murdered my husband to steal her from me and yet it was not enough—"

There was no justification for her gypsy husband's premature demise, truly there had never existed a moment in which she would think of considering there had been.

The same disturbingly mocking smile held his lips at the corners and her animosity threatened commit a fault that may go unpunished by this horrible man. Yet he could easily silence her with her guilty sensibilities. "Did you ever happen to explain the true reason as to why the Roma abandoned you?"

She shook her head violently. "You will not use that against me. I committed a sin by stupidly falling into the palm of your hand and I was punished accordingly."

He chuckled amusedly. "How long will that lie suffice? And when Layla learns the truth? What will happen to you then? You will no longer be considered her mother."

She chocked on a sob and weakened losing fight as she dropped her head struggling for composure. She had done wrong. "Even time pardons one's mistakes."

His grip loosened against her arms and she jerked away instantly. He moved back to lean against his desk. "Layla is a clever girl, business savvy and a fast learner. She is beautiful and charming. And she has enough faults to attribute to my organizations. She is stubborn and persistent, but weak and riddled of compassion. But having compassion does not mean she will pardon any offense, not even a harlot's futile reservations." He smirked. "Robin Talbot played her part particularly well in ensnaring the viscount, yet all Layla could manage to do was beat her. Had she truly been prepared the harlot would be dead and a mystery would have claimed Vinnlake Hall."

He had expectations and those that far exceeded them. It had been in his best interest to have been confessed to by his daughter that she killed Robin Talbot for crossing her, but he was comforted by her aggression, regardless.

Jaelle sniffled noisily and shook her head. "You asked Talbot to Vinnlake Hall, did you not?"

"I did," he said. "Though Lord Kyoraku played a large part in offering her an invitation."

"You must have offered her a large sum of money to force the viscount—"

His smile widened. "I do doubt he was forced."

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. "He never intended to harm her, yet—"

"Let us be somber, Jaelle," he suggested with a nonchalant air. "If you were given the option of a murdered daughter to a brokenhearted and bitter young woman, which would you prefer?"

She glared at him viciously.

"It was a simple decision. Layla is of utmost importance to furthering my plans, whether you deem it acceptable or not."

"And if Viscount L'Isle truly did harbor affection for her?"

"He did not," he answered complacently.

"You do not know that."

"I do," he said. "He was to marry this year, regardless."

"To Neliel."

"No." He shook his head, almost in disappointment. "My agreements with Luisenbarn were settled before he offered the viscount the duty to harm Layla's reputation. It was an act of desperation to have the old crone leave with some pride intact. He had already offered his eldest grandson for marriage, long before he broke his engagement to Neliel, and the assignment acted as a double edge blade. If he were to enamor Layla and elope, it would create scandal when his betrothed had already been chosen. He would play possum with our daughter until we coincidentally discovered them and I would be forced to retract our settlement. The game was well played, but I scarcely managed to appear the victor."

Jaelle's tears dried instantly. "You are not planning to wed Aishe?"

"It was never my intention to offer her hand to the Luisenbarn."

"Why did you not tell her?"

"It never hurts to allow Layla a bit of responsibility," he started. "She will not choose his betrothed because she does not yet know her viscount will be taking up a wife. If she had prior knowledge she may attempt to force herself into the engagement and that will bring dreadful consequences. I am sure you can gather the sort without my help."

She understood immediately.

Layla still loved the viscount and even if it were against every inch of her womanly pride, would try convincing her father to have them wed. She would ensnare him by wedlock and may live contently knowing he was her husband, but it could never work. The Viscount L'Isle was the heir of Luisenbarn and Layla the heir of Aizen. Marrying them might lead to catastrophic conflict between the families. The Luisenbarn had the advantage because their heir was male.

_But_ if Layla were excluded from the agreement, her family would have the advantage. The Luisenbarn would practically marry into the Aizen family. Layla will be free to lead her family as she saw fit and continue stealing businesses from the Luisenbarn until they were entirely dependent on her. She would gain control of the Luisenbarn Court and her family's family would prosper given her intellect and business savvy.

She stared at Aizen wide eyed, frightened by the mere thought.

"You have come to an understanding?"

Jaelle frowned deeply and whirled toward the entrance, refusing to admit the truth. She slammed the doors shut noisily, resenting him far more than she had previously. He made her skin crawl and forced a flood of bad memories into her head and reminded her of her place inside that mansion. She would be nothing but his prisoner because she finally decided to do what was right. She emerged dissatisfied and utterly ashamed because she could do nothing to aid Aishe.

* * *

Layla reentered her home through the servant's entrance and routed her way toward her bedroom to run into her father half a step into the corridor. She had left a muddy trail behind her that may require explanation, but inclined her head in greeting.

He ignored her unsightliness and ventured straight into the point. "Our guests have entered our territory and are set to appear at the entrance in a few minutes," he began, letting her pass onto the hallway. "I need your decision now."

She no longer cared and it showed in her expression as she averted her listless eyes. "Pick whoever you deem worthy of marriage. Every woman within the family has had their come out and are each eligible for marriage."

"Reasonable enough," he said, "now, before you depart to freshen up I'd like to advise you a bit."

She did not need to reassure him or give way to his lovely advice, as if he ever managed to spout anything of meager interest to her. He never actually had guidance to offer, he merely brushed the notion from their minds and allowed all his children to do as they saw fit.

"You are now recognized as my heir and there are certain precautions you must take to ensure your safety," he said calmly. "One's enemies deride one's weaknesses from what is often spoken and it is your duty to deceive them. You must lie, Layla, at all times if possible. Create a world in which you have complete control where whatever fibs spewed have become reality. Lie to everyone—your familiars and friends, enemies and strangers. There is no need for anyone but yourself to know who you truly are. You will not become a pawn in their game, but a Queen of vast sobriety and knowledge. There should be no one in existence to move you or your sentiments without you giving way to such actions."

Her father strode down the staircase.

Layla remained silent the entire walk to her bedroom where she asked William to prepare a bath after noticing there was dirt in her hair. And she sat inside cool water relaxed while listening to the merriment the servants rowed upon greeting their mysterious Luisenbarn guests. She inwardly hoped the envoys were the rancorous pair, Grimmjow and Nnoitra. She could amuse herself with whatever disasters they brought upon her home. But after donning dark gown and having a maid style her hair and offer guidance on which jewelry suit her attire best, she halted suddenly on her venture down the staircase.

Her eyes grew in amazement and slid through a series of emotions, thereafter, and her heart hammered viciously in her chest. Her fingers curved over the railing tightly as his eyes flashed upward to level with her expression, but he did not hold her gaze—no longer than a few seconds. And she could feel a pinching emotion in her stomach.

Starrk stepped forward and offered his hand.

She flinched, turned her head, and quickly slipped past him.

He followed her into the sitting room where her father and mother curiously sat keeping Ulquiorra unnecessary company. Upon entering, Jaelle bolted out of her seat and offered it to Layla with a slight inclination of the head.

"Thank you," she uttered.

Her mother busily stared at the Viscount L'Isle as he slumped into the couch beside his cousin and within seconds her eyes glittered in newfound sensation.

Layla pushed resentful thoughts from her head.

Aizen shot her a cutting glance and she rolled her shoulders. She straightened her back while neatly placing her hands atop her lap. She tried not to look in Starrk direction to avoid an unnecessary outburst. "I have prepared accommodations for your stay and assigned each of you a butler to provide you with utmost comfort," she said with a charismatic smile. "But you have traveled far and long, so we will not make business interactions until tomorrow evening, once you are well and settled."

She had only been asked to greet them properly and provide them with vast hospitality like a good hostess would and then she would trudge back to her bedroom after the servants appeared to lead them to their accommodations. She did not bother staying to speak to her father, but did reach out to her mother and squeezed her hand in reassurance. Their eyes locked for a minute. "Please come with me."

Jaelle grazed her knuckles to the side of her cheek. "Yes, of course, dear."

Layla inclined her head as Ulquiorra and Starrk got to their feet, bowing. "Do enjoy your stay."

Her mother bowed appropriately as a maid stumbled into the sitting room to serve tea and biscuits and took her hand, leading her toward the staircase and then her bedroom.

She sat in her mother's presence as the older woman tightened her grip on both her hands and kindly listened and accepted the extensive apology.

"I must be the one to apologize for having crossed the line," said Jaelle bashfully apologetic. "I understand that there are things a woman can and should not be force to endure when matters of the heart are concerned. I was simply excited to be a part of your life and wished to know everything there was to you."

"And there is no wrong in that," she answered. "You must excuse my silence still as I am unable to speak of it. Let alone contemplate it with that very man beneath my roof."

"Yes, I have seen," replied her mother. Her hands squeezed the young woman's and eyes stared at her compassionately. "Are you well, Aishe?"

Layla nodded, swallowing hard. The anxiety was killing her. She felt a need to curl underneath her sheets until the Luisenbarn were presented with an honorable bride and they were on their way back to London or wherever it was they were hiding. She wanted to be a coward throughout her stay there until winter came and the world would know the names of all heirs—to face consequences and unknown assaults against them. Come winter, the world would turn perilous for the Three Families and she would be at the center of it all. It is reason for her quick decisions.

Something good will come about the bad if she were to think clearly. She had devised her course of action from then until winter and if any wrong was to be committed, she would surely be prepared for it.

"Should I stay?"

"Yes, mama," she whispered, feeling her mother's arms come about her and leaned her forehead into her shoulder. "Please stay. I cannot handle him being so near."

Jaelle held her snuggly. "You should not force yourself to be kind."

"I love him, mama, even after what he has done and how much pain and suffering it caused. My feelings toward him have not changed. I cannot see another man the same."

Tears blurred her vision as she shut her eyes tightly.

"You must claim your happiness, then," she whispered, "and make as many mistakes as you possibly can to mold the course of your life. If he can manage to make you happy and if you love him so much, then you should not be in reserve while in his presence."

"I don't know what to do."

"Take it slowly."

* * *

Starrk wondered if Layla purposefully ordered her servants to prepare a hazardous bed for his resting place. He slept cramped and uncomfortable before waking to intrude on his cousin's writing to have a measure at his mattress. He found it vastly comfortable, a bed in which he could easily catch up to the sleep he missed during the length carriage ride from Cambridge House to Aizen's countryside manor. But Ulquiorra hastily gave him the boot and he was forced to rest in a couch half his size that served as a better mattress than his own.

He woke to indescribable pain and horrible soreness. He stretch in many ways and rolled his palm against his stiff shoulders with a pained expression. She had her vengeance. He would be walking rather stiffly throughout his stay if that was her idea of a joke.

He recalled his meeting with Layla after such lengthy separation. She looked just as delicately beautiful as she had throughout their stay at Vinnlake Hall and made her ascension like the mistress of the household. He tore his gaze away, unable to bear her demure countenance or the emptiness of her gaze, because the guilt continued splashing against his ankles like the billowing waves crushing into stones. He returned to Vinnlake Hall to the woman sitting atop her bed shouting at him to leave and forget about her with tears shinning in her eyes and body trembling. He went back to acknowledge that Earl Aizen had made a fool of him and hired Robin Talbot. He recognized his foolishness and idiocy and the pain he had caused her. And he could stare at Robin's face as she herself confirmed the vicious act…minutes before the smoke started billowing beneath the doorway.

He threatened her and Robin caved in. She cried and searched for succor in his arms, but he rejected her. And she screamed at him until his eardrums threatened to pop and a scene rose from the ashes of his care for her. Robin was contracted to satisfy his needs, but she was more of an entertainer than a harlot and it had been reason enough for him to think her precious. But he no longer laid claimed to whatever caring emotions he had for the woman, not after she obeyed Aizen's perfectly crafted plan for her own selfish reasons. He could not love a petty woman.

He told her.

She slapped him.

Memories of Layla disappeared in the deleterious smoke.

But she returned to his life and he was winded. She was a sweet delicacy worthy of temptation. And by God he craved to love her blindly—to be the object of her love and care and desires, to be the dream of all dreams, to be in her arms and affection until it smothered him. She never will allow it.

He barreled back into reality once his servant helped him into his jacket. He inclined his head and stepped out of the room. He could take breakfast, though he awakened late, but was able to expect an empty table. He eagerly expected it to be as such, but he had no such luck.

Starrk entered the large room, decorated in a long table with a set of floral ornaments at the center, and at one end she was seated. Taking an early coffee while scouring the morning papers, Layla kept her gaze firm upon the print while holding her cup centimeters from her pink lips. Her hair had been styled up and dotted with tiny glistening jewels and she wore a pale blue sitting dress.

His servant, Smith, pulled the chair back to seat him, making enough noise to arouse her attention. He watched her eyes flicker upward then flutter downward to the pages; another sip from her coffee was taken. Her blond servant stiffly stood at her side.

"Miss Henry is getting married," she said casually. "She had a wild imagination."

William did not answer, his gaze fixed at him.

He slumped into his seat near the center of the table, much closer to her than comfortable. He should have requested breakfast in his room, after all.

"Did you not hear me?"

He met her gaze suspiciously. "I did not think you were referring to me."

"Who else would I be speaking to you?" she asked, offended and gestured to her butler. "My sole companion and servant has taken a vow of silence. I happen to enjoy morning conversation. Do you not?"

"Not readily."

A smile curved her lips as she lowered the paper to the table's surface. "Well, where have my manners gone," she admonished playfully. "Did you sleep well, my lord?"

"I did not," he said. "But I suspect that was your doing."

She laughed, a chorus in his ears. "It was an awful joke, was it not?"

How easily she admitted to her wrongdoings with a voice that expressed all her joy and friendliness. He could feel her ardent resentment within her words just as effortlessly. She had not and will probably never forgive him, yet he had hoped that through a series of unexpected events she may.

"I will make sure another room is prepared for you," she said with an inclination of her head. "You will sleep like a log."

"Thank you."

He ate little of his breakfast, losing his appetite to anxiety, and watched as Layla rose from her seat.

"Have you finished?"

He stared at the remainder of his food, unable to eat another bite after finishing his tea, and wiped his mouth with a napkin before tossing it atop the plate. "Yes."

"I am exploring the grounds of my home, would you care to accompany me?"

He stood straightly and fixed any wrinkles over his waistcoat. He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

"I promise we'll return before evening," she said lightly placing her hand atop his arm to allow him to lead her out the room. "I only just arrived, but have heard marvelous things from the workers. There is said to be a lake beyond the hills and even a beach were we to venture further through the thick forest and an apple orchid behind the mansion. But the gardens are vastly more beautiful than those in Vinnlake Hall."

He would be stupid to believe she didn't have an ulterior motive. Maybe she planned to drown him in that lake or beach she talked so fondly of and maybe it was stupid for him to suspect of the woman he loved. Either way, she did not love him. She could do as she wished.

He merely went along with it.

* * *

"How deep do you suppose it is?"

She peered into the river encased by trees and shot a glance at the boathouse sitting beside it and noticed a single boat tied to the wooden jetty. She twirled an umbrella over her head with a light smile gracing her lips, an expression that could very well mean a thousand words. And though her face expressed joy, her insides were churning. She felt like crying and quite possibly throwing Starrk into the lake out of spite, though he had already been rewarded with an old bed that left him painfully stiff.

Layla was not sure why she asked him out to accompany her through twining roads and floral gardens or past steep hillsides and slippery grass. He caught her once when she tripped and held her in strong arms that had her face flush a flurry of color. She clung to his arms and he may have taken notice as his gaze bore into her with unreadable eyes. She swore to see past them and her heart raced.

She wanted to hate this man for his betrayal.

She had despised him for a short while, a time in which she refused to do anything but mull over her feelings of love to have them crushed with that dawning realization.

"Quite," he answered.

Layla twirled her umbrella and walked to the jetty, pulling her feet from her heels. She picked them up and slipped into a seat. She dipped her feet into cool water as Starrk cast a shadow behind her.

He spoke little as he was known to do and yawned a number of times and they pursued a boring conversation about the scorching heat that summer brought. But she admittedly enjoyed the outing in his presence than she would have by herself.

Silence lingered between them as tensions crumbled and the smile faded from her lips. He had grown tired of standing and joined her without dropping his legs into the water rippling about her ankles. His eyes watched her with slight intensity.

"Are you happy?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Truly?"

She contemplated her response. "I am on occasion."

"Does my presence upset you?"

"I would be lying if I said yes."

"Your father has asked me to stay away from you."

She kicked up the water, creating violent ripples to resemble the raging emotion inside her. "I asked you the same, did I not?"

Starrk lowered his gaze. "I love you, Layla."

"Do you honestly?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Honestly and unconditionally."

She bit her lips to stop it from trembling. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned forward. There were tears, oh God, she had turned to crying. Her body shook with the same tremors and her voice sobbed beneath the heavy shade of her umbrella. She remembered everything down to the last detail, to her acting at the bitter end where he refused to take her.

Starrk moved closer and slinked an arm about her shoulder to draw her close. She cried harder and louder until she fully abandoned her control. She uttered inconsistencies and raged with tightly clenched fists hitting his chest until she begged for a reason. He held her closely against his chest, his shirt damp with her tears and his cheek rested atop her head.

"I should not want you, Layla," he said lowly. "You deserve much better."

"Because I am your enemy?" she asked. "The settlements being decided are a marriage between the families, is it not? There will be more unity without our respective families and—"

"Will you be marrying?"

She tilted her head back to face him, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief he provided. "No."

His jaw clenched as he stayed quiet.

"What?"

He looked to her. "I am marrying."

Her eyes widened. "W-what?"

"My grandfather had chosen me long before considering my cousins."

It meant many things. She had given her father the power to choose whoever he desired and he would never choose her for obvious reasons. She was the youngest. It all came down to Sun-sun or Halibel. He would be asked to marry one or the other and it was unfair to them, but especially to her. She loved him, even if the betrayal knocked her down a few notches, and were he to marry either her sister or cousin she would feel resentfully jealous. Her heart would not bear to see him standing at the altar beside either one or to be an aunt to whatever children he begets with his wife. She could not be kind, but be insanely jealous and it would control her world.

Layla pushed away from him and scrambled to her feet. Her emotions took the reins and there was no force capable of putting an end to them.

He watched her quizzically for various short seconds before she inhaled deeply and furrowed her eyebrows.

"If you marry anyone that isn't me, I'll never forgive you."

His eyes widened.

She took her shoes and whirled around, stomping across the jetty with a huff. She turned once she reached the grass to his astonished expression and he met with her blushing face. "Do you hear me, Starrk?"

A sheepish smile appeared on his face as he rose from his seat and shook his head with laughter in his eyes. "I didn't hear you quite clearly."

"Oh, you impertinent man!" she cried, stomping toward him.

He met her halfway. "Yes?"

Her gaze hardened in determination. "We will marry, we will love, and we will live happily ever after."

"I will want a large family, love," he said leaning close enough for their foreheads to touch.

Layla blushed a darker shade of red, further embarrassing herself in a situation she never suspected to be stuck between. "I will have all the sons and daughters you wish."

He kissed her long and hard as she dropped her umbrella to wrap her arms about his neck. He held her body firm against his and pulled back with a crooked smile.

"Let's elope."

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Firstly, thank you for reading and to those who reviewed/alerted/favorited during my sloppy updating schedule! Though, it's only been two weeks since I last posted, right?

So, I rewrote the chapter after feeling it rushed and sloppy. I tried perfecting it on three other instances and managed to cough this up like a miracle. I still feel like it's rushed, but well...I won't run my mouth. There is always a sense of forlorn when writing Starrk/Layla, it's a feeling I can't shake off.

I've been reading too many Historical Romance novels over here...so I think I twisted my outlines arm until it cried mercy and I had my way. I've been reading way too much, I finished Mary Balough's _At Last Comes Love_ (takes place in Regency, but who cares! I love her characters) and out of the last two Huxtable books...it's been the creepiest. After all the sugar-love rush I had with finishing two romances at once, I decided to read _Before I Fall _by Lauren Oliver. Nice change, promising book, thus far. But enough rambling.

I can't wait to write more of Masquerade! (I'm in love with it!)

Thank you!


	36. Lying Game 1

**Masquerade**

Chapter 36

-_**Lying Game 1**_-

_"You will thank me when it's all over."_

_"I can't stand the thought of despising you!"_

_"But you will be proud."_

_"…Love can always bloom again."_

"Are you stupid or something?" Ikkaku demanded with firm indignation, voice low in tenor. "Did you even think about it once? Or consider the consequences?"

Layla paused to regard her bodyguard with a pleasant smile, pushing a book into a leather satchel bursting with all her womanly essentials. "I thought of it well enough to act upon instinct," she answered serenely. "You shouldn't doubt me, Mr. Madarame. This is all for a good cause."

"The hell it is," he shouted, losing control of his tightly bound temperament. "You're eloping with the Viscount L'Isle, isn't that stupid enough?" He waved his arms frantically, stomping his foot. "And yer askin' me to help? What the hell?"

"I am asking very little of you," she said, slipping the flap shut and sliding it across her torso. Before returning home yesterday afternoon, she and Starrk concocted the perfect escape plan to make a clean break without arousing suspicion until late that night. So, she had a few minutes before Soifon was set to create the uproar to ensure their safe departure. "Information, mostly."

"You're only dragging me down with you!"

Layla approached him and stared at him resolutely. "There are times when you are entitled to disagree with my decisions, but today you must agree to everything I say. You need to trust my actions aren't stupid while looking incredibly idiotic on the surface."

He growled, turning away. There were times he had to force himself to comply with this damned family's business. "What do you want?"

"I want to know Shinji Hirako's current whereabouts," she said, watching his eyebrows knit and lips curl into a snarl. She pointed a daunting finger at his face. "I have no time for complaints, you tell me this instant or I'll have you pay dearly."

"Your father aint going to like this one bit," he warned.

"My father won't hear a word of this," she threatened with a vicious glare.

Her eyes narrowed and under the pressure, he cracked, or rather he refused to deal with this nonsense any longer. "He's staying at a tailor's shop—Lisa Yadomaru's place, center of London, quaint shop that carries original fashions. The house should be next door."

"Good."

Will burst through the door instantly, eyes wide. "Madarame, something's happened downstairs."

Ikkaku huffed and took his immediate leave, shooting a final glance in her direction before disappearing.

Layla appeared at the doorway and planted a kiss on Will's cheek. "I will strive to return quickly. Serve Jaelle to the best of your abilities."

He nodded curtly. "Be safe, my lady."

She rushed into the hall and advanced to the secret staircase to hear a commotion in the midst of erupting in the center of her household. She slipped down the stairs, pulling her heels from her feet, and padded through the kitchen and out the backdoor. Her rush would take her to the stables where she expected Starrk would be waiting with a pair of horses.

She always thought riding was a useless hobby to indulge in growing up, yet her father hired an instructor, and now, it didn't seem so redundant. They would be riding those horses for quite a few hours with few resting areas available and a number of dangers awaiting them on the outside. The second they entered London, things would surely get hectic and the hazards would multiply by hundreds. It took all her willpower to suppress the unnecessary emotions.

She needed to be stronger than ever.

Everything was about to change.

Layla veered through the apple orchid, hearing the crunch of tightly packed dirt beneath her heeled boots, and continued onto a road toward the stables. She teetered over a spread of tiny pebbles to hold her balance and neared the wooden structure sitting meters away. She grunted as she stepped onto a stretch of grass and when she lifted her gaze, she caught sight of Starrk leaning patiently against an oak tree. The heavy shade darkened his unreadable features.

She quietly looped about the tree, running a gloved hand against its trunk and poked her head over the oak. She pinched his side and he flinched painfully, whirling around to see her with wide eyes.

"Layla—"

She heard a collective neigh and turned her head slightly to see a pair of horses to her left. "Ah, those are our best horses," she murmured, straightening up and reaching out for his hand. "We should hurry."

She felt the brush of his fingers before she did a beeline toward the horses, peeling one glove off to run her fingers over the stallion's white mane.

"Has the commotion erupted?"

"Yes, everything has been set in motion."

Starrk offered her a hand and she took it as she wobbly mounted the horse with more than a bit of help. He looked at her with a hint of a smirk. "You can ride?"

"Don't challenge me, viscount."

"Challenge?"

"Please mount your horse, my lord, time is of the essence."

He smirked. "Of course," he said lowly, planting a kiss atop her hand before untying both animals and mounted his horse. "The back road that connects to the town is the easiest route."

"Then, by all means," she said, gesturing in its direction.

* * *

Jaelle kicked open the doors to Aizen's office hours after the hubbub settled. She bustled to and from every hallway and room in search of her daughter with no avail until she grew incredibly frustrated. She caught Aizen enjoying a fresh brew of coffee as his secretary's information network reached an abrupt interruption.

"Where's my daughter?" she demanded.

Aizen leisurely set his cup atop its saucer and gestured Tōsen out. A crude smile drew his lips as he set his cold eyes upon her frustrated expression. "As always, you are lacking in rudimentary manners," he replied cruelly. "I figured a queen would be enough to impose some etiquette on you after so many years."

"I asked you a question," she started, furrowing her brows, "or did you not hear me? Should I repeat myself? I asked you: where is _my_ daughter?"

"Layla should be at rest."

"Resting means she would be in her bedroom underneath those itchy blankets, which she isn't."

The man looked unfazed and she strongly suspected that whatever happened to her daughter would link back to him, one way or the other. The feeling was almost foreboding.

"I take it you could not be bothered to check outdoors or asked that petulant butler of hers?" he questioned condescendingly.

She bristled. "What sort of an idiot do you take me for-?" her eyes narrowed at the hint of a smile. "Don't you dare answer that. Of course, I questioned everyone and looked out doors. You're not the first person I'd run to at the sign of trouble—I don't even think I'd rush to you for any other reason but _my _daughter."

A strange look crossed his features for a mere second and had she blinked, she might have missed it. He leaned over his desk, elbows propped on the surface. "Is the Viscount L'Isle in his bedroom?"

Jaelle stilled a buzzing thought before her eyes went wide. "She wouldn't!"

He rose from his seat, arms falling to his sides. "You know nothing of that child." He halted before her, shooting her a stifling glare. "I will send a search party. You will stay out of this."

He left the office, leaving her cold and vindictive. She refused to stand around doing nothing while her daughter rushed head-on into the dangerous world in the company of her lover and enemy. She trusted the viscount would protect her, but that didn't mean they would be safe in their endeavors.

"You stupid child," she cursed, rushing out behind Aizen.

It was too cruel a fate to pursue. How could Aishe not acknowledge that? Knowing and accepting the agreements of last evening's meeting. She didn't bother to say a thing against the arrangements.

Aishe sat calmly with her head held high and serene brown orbs focused and indescribable. She bowed her head upon hearing the name of the viscount's future bride. He accepted without preamble, just a slight nod as he leaned back with a bored expression.

He would marry Sun-Sun, Aizen's oldest daughter, that winter. The union needed to happen before that year ended.

She returned to her bedroom wordlessly once their conference concluded and as her mother, she followed suit. She cradled her daughter's head as she fell into slumber, but the woman didn't shed a single tear.

Jaelle had to assume this was the work of the viscount.

* * *

Layla and Starrk made their first stop once the sky turned a vivid purple and dark storm clouds begun to pelt their heavy rain upon their backs. It had been three hours since they crossed the neighboring town and continued riding until they reached a booming town, filled with festivities and blinding lights. She felt a rush watching the merriment scrawled on everyone's expression and how welcoming an environment they created with their streets bustling with people and the lovely folklore music resounding through them. The working class managed to find joy in the mundane; they brought music and celebration and frolicked with wide smiles and jars of beer.

Clanks of ceramics pounded, whistles resounded, overlapping voices in booming impoverished society with their tiny homes sitting back to back in messy fashion. But unknowing eyes eventually spotted them as their horses trudged over muddied ground and quickly a path was cleared.

She wore fine jewelry and fashioned a lovely riding habit, Starrk dressed no different in his newly tailored suit—the class difference astounded them and suddenly, she felt uncomfortable. Starrk asked if she wanted to rest, but she shook her head with a brightened smile and told him she would manage until they reached the inn.

It was located in upper middleclass, where streetlamps illuminated the roads and the distant toll of church bells rang. Few civilians were out that evening which signified the late hour in which they arrived.

Starrk rented the most expensive room and asked for directions to a far off parish to dissuade any coming disasters. Surely, guards would be sent to track them down and he opted to cover their tracks.

Layla sunk into the rigid bed with a frown, feeling the sprains of the mattress gnawing at her back, as Starrk tugged free his necktie and tossed his jacket atop a chair. He looked terribly exhausted, but she understood. They had ridden for two hours straight without stopping and took on the indecisive summer weather.

He plopped down beside her feet. "Do you plan to sleep in those clothes?"

"I'm waiting for you to finish," she answered, sighing.

"Why?"

"I don't feel like undressing. My arms ache."

He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped down beside her, eyes closed. "I'm exhausted."

"And I'm waiting," she chimed.

He rolled onto his side, giving her a look. "You certainly are difficult."

"It was a long ride. I am always irksome after lengthy ventures."

He lifted his hand to the buttons of her jacket, plucking them off one by one. "We need plenty rest if we wish to make it to London before sunset tomorrow."

She looked to him. "Are we sharing this bed?"

"We have already shared a bed."

"Yes, I know, but we are now eloping. We are to be married in two days' time. Should we not wait to share the bed until then?"

"I don't understand the importance." He pulled her onto a seat with him after tugging free the jacket and slinking it onto the nearest chair. She wore a simple camisole underneath that left very little to the imagination with its fine, translucent fabric. She stood to toss aside her skirt and bustle. She struggled slightly as she jerked her feet from her booted heels. The flimsy camisole pooled deep before her bosom as strands of messily adorned hair traced along her slim neck, tips gently brushing her collarbone. He felt his heart palpitate with longing. "Would you rather lay alone?"

Heavy rain pelted on the windows, curtaining a hush in silence. A single candle burned atop a nightstand, lighting her pale skin, as her face remained shadowed in his direction.

"I have a preference for warmth during rainy days," she susurrated, running her fingers along the curve of his neck and down to hook over his unbuttoned shirt. She raised her other hand to the side of his face, threading her thumb along the seam of his lips. "Starrk?"

She called him in a soft, musical timbre that sent a tantalizing wave through his body as incandescent light filtered past her camisole. Her waxen skin glowed vibrantly, long silhouettes setting the angles of her bone structure and slim figure as she shifted atop the lumpy mattress. A mixture of scents filled his nostrils, of soap and droplets of cherry and the sweetened mixture of a new fragrance. He could smell every inch of her in their proximity, could recognize every scent no matter how faint. She seeped through him like vapor, filling him until it turned into pure intoxication.

He cupped a hand over hers; drawing it from his face and leaning close to firmly press his lips against hers—supple and succulent, tinged with faded rogue. Her fingers twitched along the buttons, undoing them one by one, as his tongue slinked between her lips, parting them sinuously. Her body shuddered and her hands slid over his taut, muscled torso, pushing his shirt from his body, exploring every inch of naked skin presented to her. She marveled past her fingertips, memorized his molded form beneath the palm of her hands as her heart threatened to burst.

Starrk curved his fingers beneath her camisole and lifted it slightly, knuckles brushing over soft skin. She lifted her arms to allow him to pull it from her slight frame and took a deep breath, anxiety bubbling in her insides. His eyes scanned her body in dim lighting and a blush tinged her cheeks. He had never truly seen her in her natural skin; bits and pieces had met his vigilance plenty times in Vinnlake Hall, but somehow, sitting before him in a less than extravagant room inside a shabby city she didn't recognize made a difference. It was a natural setting for any wedded couple, one burning candle to cast an opaque circle abound its surroundings as gold-flecked sheets sparkled in their peripherals and clothes lay a mess scrawled on the ground like rippling water refusing calm. It smelled of burnt wax with a tinge of lavender and he smelled real and virile. He felt real beneath her fingertips, though her mind remained in doubt.

She created a web of fantasy to soothe her soul. She might have fallen while galloping and he halted to carry her off into some unknown domicile where he awaited her awakening while changing wet towel after wet towel to cool her peaking temperature. This perfect setting was a dream, a mere manifestation of cruel desires and insatiable lust. They were eloping to do with their lives as they saw fit. He wouldn't marry Sun-sun and she wouldn't parade herself before the Duke of Burgundy to get an offer. They abandoned whatever life they had for love. Neither she nor he would be allowed to return to their respective families after their marriage spread through the continent like wildfire and numerous plans would be forever flawed by their reckless actions.

She never thought this moment would be intensified by the mystifying allure of the forbidden—that their actions were against all society's rules.

"Beautiful," he uttered huskily, burying his face against her neck, pushing apart streams of auburn hair and pressing his lips over hot, wanting skin. She exhaled deeply, fingers curling over his shoulders, drawing him close. "Layla."

He leveled his gaze to hers; the brush of his lips remained imprinted upon her flesh as hot breath tickled her naked skin. She opened her eyes. His hands were on her thighs, moving upward to rest over the curves of her hips.

"Y-yes?"

There was the slightest hint of a smile curving his lips as he stared deeply into her slightly widened eyes. "You're nervous."

She stiffened, lowering her head to hide her blush. "Forgive me."

He lifted her head with his index finger and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. "I will not rush you."

She swallowed hard, finding her voice and desires and speaking her mind. His expression was full of lust and she wanted him. It was no desire, but a need, like breathing.

"Rush me," she pressed, "please."

And he did, pushing her down on the mattress and pressed his body against her fully, craning his neck to continue kissing her neck, touching her body, feeling her skin, and tasting her—indulging in her, breathing in her allure.

She yelped in surprise, eyes wide as he left openmouthed kisses against her burning skin. Her stomach threatened to plummet and swallow her insides whole. Her breath caught in her throat, knees bended and toes curled. Whatever this feeling was—as it filled her from her head to her toe in waves—she found euphoria buried deep within and lust, in its most carnal representation. Her fingers twitched over the coverlet, bunching up the fabric, and hushed herself as his right hand slid under her thigh, warm lips pressed firmly against it.

She could see his eyes burning into hers and dropped her head back instantly, exhaling sharply as his lips sucked upon her sensitive flesh.

"Oh, Starrk."

He raised himself atop her, full weight on her slim form, crushing and exciting her. She pressed her lips against his cheek, placing a hand to his other to push his mouth toward her when she felt him hard against her inner thigh. She flushed, skin turning a light rosy, and she hastily ravished his lips. She wrung her hands in his hair, tangling her fingers between thick strands, pushing it back as it curtained her face, tips tickling her skin.

He responded to her feverishly, allowed his hands to touch her chest, firmly and hungrily, kneading her mounds. Her senses awakened, her body arched against his, filling him like a mold. He could never truly fathom she lay in his arms in such intimacy, in a world they together were about to create—where they would be happy together in marriage and much more. He loved her deeply, caressed her form, suckled on her skin, and heard her pleasured cry, and was aroused by her mere touch— tentative, but assured. She whispered his name and it was a touch of velvet. Of soft and alluring composition that strummed like the lowest, sweetest notes of a piano.

He took her gently, hands holding her hips firmly as nails dug deep and he embedded himself within her womanhood. Her body shuddered, a pained groan filled the sultry ambience, and he kissed the hollow on her shoulder. He filled her insides and her muscles clamped around his burning erection and he buried his face against her flesh, mouth opened and panting, exhaling her name. She held him closer, legs tangled over his, heart thumping loudly as her eyes fluttered shut.

He breathed deeply, drawing back and pushing forward into her warmth, eliciting another pained moan. He did so again, whispering in her ear about relaxation, coaxing her through their progression. He susurrated loving words as her fingernails dug deep into his flesh that threatened to spur him to the edge of control. He took her face into his hands and kissed her deeply, falling into a slow rhythm until her body adjusted to him and pain that seeped through her turned to oozing pleasure.

"More," she ordered softly, kissing him hard between haggard breaths. "I want more."

He lifted his body, pushing one of her slim legs forward and thrusting into her harder and deeply, and when she squeezed him tightly, he growled. He watched her through hazed, hungry eyes: the glisten of her waxen skin and the light bounce of her firm, supple breasts, and her chest heaving visibly beneath light opacity. Her voice was surprisingly low, but musical, a soft whimper, a light demand, a sharp but shy direction.

He grit his teeth, holding her body in place, felt her insides shudder convulsively as his pace quickened. Her voice grew slightly in cadence, arms restless at her sides, face scrawled with pleasure, and then, she took a sharp breath, throwing her head back as he felt her insides swell and constrict. He felt it quickly.

She had never felt that burning sensation before in life and could not compare it to anything, but now understood how pleasure lay subsequent to pain. A deep tug at the pit of her stomach, a churning, a mesh—fulfillment, love, and lust wrapped in one. She felt it peaked, where it became nearly impossible not to scream. She bit her lip, turned her face away, and felt Starrk's hands reach for hers and twine their fingers as he leaned to press his strong body to hers continuing his rushing pace, even as the surge of pleasure died down in her exhausted form. She did not stop him, merely watched him. His face covered in deep shadows as blue-gray orbs brimmed in slight illumination looking as their bodies melded together. His labored breathing rang louder than the noisy shower clashing against tall windows.

In the throes of passion, Starrk looked most attractive. Standing before her naked, he looked his best, a delectable display. Saying her name like a chant aroused her, it made her feel womanly—to know someone desired her to such extents. Another surge tore through her, lengthier and gratifying, and it lingered even after feeling the hot rush of his release.

Oh, it lingered.

He kissed her tenderly on the lips, stared into her vibrant gaze, and opened his mouth.

"I love you, Starrk," she said quietly.

He smiled. "I, too."

Starrk settled at her side, pressing a hand over her navel. "Are you exhausted?"

"Perhaps," she replied teasingly, though she could not deny her body rest. She ached and tingled everywhere he had touched.

He kissed her forehead. "Let's rest."

"As you wish, darling." She lifted her body slightly and leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

He wrapped an arm about her waist and pushed her under, bringing with him the heavy coverlet as she erupted in laughter, rolling onto her left and landing on his stomach. He pinched her side as she fought against him, doubling over in joy, and pushed his face away as he attempted to kiss her.

"How dare you tickle a lady?" she cried, masking her hysterics. "It's unsightly—pfft—stop, you horrid man!"

He chuckled, pushing her on her back to brush his lips against hers, tugging gently at her lower lip. She settled against him, pressing her body against his and wrapping her arms about his neck, kissing him back with equal tenderness.

* * *

Layla and Starrk arrived at London nearing dusk the next day. Starrk lazed around bed after she called him repeatedly, dressing in a rush when she realized they were pressed for time, and it accounted for their tardiness. She led them upon entering, toward the quaint workshop of Lisa Yadomaru, a famed tailor throughout the London streets, where their day was set to begin.

She found the shop first and tugged back at her horses reins as they neared it. Its hooves stomped noisily upon gravel and it neighed. She pushed back and carefully dismounted. She turned her head to see Starrk following suit, catching up to her as she neared the neighboring home sitting adjacent to the tiny boutique. Stylish hats sat beyond the display windows in colorful shades and recent fashions. They caught her fancy and she made a note to ask Ms. Yadomaru if she could see her entire collection once she settled her business with Shinji Hirako.

"What are we doing here?"

She turned in Starrk's direction, fleetingly, before looking straight at the front door. "There are few things in this world I desire," she started firmly, "a congeal life, without worry, sadness, or danger, without ludicrous ideals like those imposed on by the Three Families, a love that is everlasting and children that shall never leave my side, and Shinji Hirako."

"Shinji Hirako?"

He leaned forward, facing her curiously.

She looked to him with a brazen smile. "Our story changes here, Starrk," she said, "and I promise fireworks."

He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I'll be expecting results."

She straightened out and reached out to brush her knuckles noisily to the door. It stayed silent for a long while before she heard a slur of hushed voices and the shuffling of feet, rushing to the entrance.

The door swung opened revealing Roxanne in a newly tailored red dress covered in frills and a white flower embedded in her twirled hair. Her eyes widened upon seeing her smiling face before reacting, and slapping the door shut.

"Your estranged half-sister," murmured Starrk.

"Apparently," started Layla, "she has been sticking to the ex-chief since they ran across some regrettable entanglements." She shot Starrk a look. "They're outcasts in their own worlds."

"You've got quite the information."

"Being an heir comes with privileges."

Muffled voices rang deep inside the home and shortly after, a dark-haired woman with glasses opened the door: Lisa Yadomaru. She met her on few occasions, once she had made a dress for her.

"Good evening, Miss Aizen, Viscount L'Isle," she said, bowing courteously, but stood firm at the entrance. "What brings you to my humble home?"

"I want to speak to Shinji Hirako."

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, she pushed her glasses up, letting the streetlight bounce off the lenses to dissuade them. "He isn't here."

"Then," her smiled widened slightly, "I'd like to have my measurements taken to purchase a few of your dresses."

"It's dark out, my lady, I have already closed shop and scarcely make exceptions."

She lowered her face, shaking her head. "Forgive me, Miss Yadomaru, but I'm not in a pleasant mood since the ends of my travels," she said in the same playful tone, but it was littered in dark undertones. "I want to speak to Mr. Hirako, this instant." She stepped forward, causing the older woman to lift her chin in defiance. "_Please_."

The door at the end of the long hallway opened to reveal the blond in question, frowning disapprovingly. "Let 'em in."

Lisa cleared the doorway. "Come in."

"Thank you." Layla stepped forward and headed straight to the blond with a confident smile.

"Excuse me."

Starrk followed closely, curious and vigilant.

The front door thumped heavily.

Layla paused before the ex-chief. "Good evening, Shinji Hirako."

"Evening." He shot both guests a disconcerting look. "What d'ya want?"

"I'd like to speak with you in private," she said carefully. "May we?"

"Both of you?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Just me."

He looked to Lisa, who nodded firmly and gestured Starrk into a different direction. "My lord, if you please."

Starrk followed Lisa's lead and Shinji jutted his chin toward a nearby door. He led the way, opening the entrance to a tiny sitting room and allowed her to peruse through the various ornaments decorating before finding a seat in a loveseat. She smiled at him as he dropped into an armchair facing in her direction.

"So?"

"I have a proposition, one that you're entitled to deny, but will be encouraged to accept."

He stared at her dully. "Does yer daddy know yer off meeting his old enemies?"

"He does not," she replied, "and I'd rather this remain a secret between us."

"I'll make sure to mention it next time we sit over tea," he stated sarcastically.

She laughed. "Of course."

"Well go on. What'd you want?"

"I want to hire you."

"Hell no," he said swiftly.

She cleared her throat. "You have yet to listen to my proposition, sir."

"No. The last thing I want to do is sacrifice my integrity for a group of justified murderers," he stated. "So, hell no."

"Let me finish."

"Whether ya finish or not, aint gonna change my mind."

"I do hope it will."

"Suit yerself," he huffed.

"I have left my family and am in dire need of a bodyguard."

He snorted. "You think I'm gonna buy that?"

"There is absolutely no telling how far my father would go to bring me back. I am valuable to him and I might as well be valuable to you."

"Please, you might be his favorite, but that don't make you the next heir."

"It does. I am. I _was._" She tilted her head nonchalantly, raising her eyebrows in slight amazement. "That entitles me to information—information that may pique your interest that can probably put you in the Queen's favor once more, but of course, only if you choose to accept my offer."

"I dunno what it is yer plotting, but I don't want in on this." He shook his head. "You better find yerself someone else to do yer bidding, I aint the guy."

"Apart from offering you a large sum of money, vast family-only information, revenge against Lord Wedgeworth and Mr. Bentley, the Queen's favor, mend your reputation by making you a hero, and in return you only have to play a part in my plan. It's miniscule, absolutely no danger, but you will be safe and accounted for," she explained briskly. "I will also have Roxanne taken to safety."

His eyebrows rose, interest piqued. "I don't think Roxanne would enjoy that."

"I do not care," she replied casually.

"And why should I trust you with the girl?"

She saw a change in his eyes; they softened when he spoke of Roxanne. "You care about her, don't you?"

"W-what?" he shouted, face flushed. "Where d'ya get that from?"

She smiled. "I'm grateful."

"What the hell?"

"You shouldn't have to worry about Roxanne. It's my intention to protect both Harmon siblings. As well as offer you the aforementioned and whatever else you desire, so long as it's in my jurisdiction."

He lowered his face and shook his head, leaning forward. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but damnit, yer good." He shook his finger. "Yer fucking good."

"Do we have a deal?"

"I think we do."

She clapped her hands and rose, along with him. "Fantastic. It will be an absolute pleasure working with you."

"When do I get ta ask the questions?"

"I can't speak to you in the presence of the viscount."

He scrunched his face. "Exactly, why is the viscount alive?"

"Oh," she blinked. "You went to Vinnlake Hall to sabotage the Fourth Family's plans, right? There was an underground tunnel that led them to the river where all escaped through obvious means. Of course, no members will actually admit to being alive because everyone's going through difficult times. Hiding is imperative."

"And yer together…because?"

"We're eloping."

He shot her an even stare. "I bet yer dad hates you."

"That is my intention…because we have something in common."

Her eyes darkened.

"Oh yeah?"

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

New arc and quite possibly the final.

Chapters will be lengthier and I'll be tying up a series of loose ends while reaching the climax. We're one to two chapter away from it.

You're all going to hate me. I swear you will.

Oh, and, after the climax the story will be told through Starrk and Rovina's perspective (with other side characters). They are leading roles in the final part of the story. I also scrapped the outline. I'm working off the top of my head with random ideas scrawled on a notebook.

Thank you for reading! :)


	37. Lying Game 2

**Masquerade**

Chapter 37

-_**Lying Game 2**_-

_News spread quickly._

_It would._

_One of the families lost their heir,_

_And things went into chaos._

_The service was incredible, well attended,_

_Dressed in black, crying, and holding flowers_

_It was everything a farewell should be_

_It also came with complications_

_But everyone was crying—shed at least one tear_

_I remember it clearly._

_The saddest hour came early summer._

"…and so, I need you to fetch Rye from the plaza three days from today," concluded Layla. "Bring him here. It'll make things easier."

Layla had taken a comfortable seat beside her fiancé. Between herself and Shinji Hirako, they explained how things would be like henceforth. They were in a larger room with mirrors aligning the walls and mannequins in which Lisa Yadomaru pinned fabrics to sculpt her fashionable dresses and suits, sitting atop huddled loveseats staged in the center of the room. Roxanne had furrowed her brows upon acknowledging her presence and kept traces of a snarl on her face as explanations bounced off the high ceilings. She even muttered a swift, "_traitor,_" when Shinji mentioned he would be working alongside Layla and looked positively furious when regarding the subject of her safety. Actually, anything that involved Roxanne seemed out of the question and she voiced her unwanted opinions.

Lisa silently absorbed the information being exchange between tentative sips of tea. A floundering maidservant had served biscuits and brought a brew of fresh tea to fill their mismatched cups, offering them her mistress's hospitality.

"Didn't I tell you to rot in hell?" spurred Roxanne, inching closer to the edge of her seat. "Should I spell it out for you? Or send you there myself?"

Shinji exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes.

Lisa set her cup atop her saucer and spared the young gypsy a glance, expecting no less out of her. Refinement took years to hammer into a free-spirited individual and while they had made progress in the past few days, it wasn't enough to conceal her origins. Recognizing it was slightly irksome, especially in front of guests.

Layla took the time to acknowledge the bruises on Roxanne's face, purplish green aligned the corner of her eye slinking deep under the creases into a darker shade and dotted with red. Her lower lip looked torn and there were fading bruises on her arms and dark prints about her neck. She wore clothes that hid her battered body particularly well, but she could see red rings encircling her wrists and ankles. They were fresh injuries, too. Looking at them made Layla feel somewhat disturbed.

"How were you hurt?"

"That's none of your damned business," Roxanne huffed, defiantly folding her arms under her chest.

"She's been sleeping with the Duke of Cambridge—"

She kicked Shinji viciously, fury scrawled over her expression, forcing him into silence as she raised her voice to counter his words. "Shut up! It's none of your business either!"

"Have you no integrity, Roxanne?" asked Layla disappointedly. "The Duke of Cambridge is a married man, and he so happens to be wedded to a close friend of mine."

Roxanne bolted out of her seat, eyes ablaze as they stared her down furiously. "Nobody asked you to come. Nobody even asked you to breathe, but you keep doing it. The only thing I do ask you is to stay out of my business. Understand?"

The rampant girl didn't wait for a response; she merely swept past them in her rage and stomped into a different room, slamming the door shut.

"The Duke of Cambridge is a violent man with no discretion for his duchess," explained Lisa calmly. "Roxanne has been prostituting herself from a young age to have enough money to survive. Street dancing doesn't necessarily provide enough, but you couldn't possibly understand the struggle she's faced. Do not judge her. She is impudent, but she is a lovely girl."

It stung to hear those words, to know Roxanne had settled upon a sinful profession to earn money. She lived many years believing her young sister resorted to street performances to get by. Roxanne always seemed so proud, but she had her flaws. Imperfections that made it vastly difficult to love her as one would a sister. She felt repugnance when faced with her since she realized her mother still lived and how Roxanne had sought vengeance against her when she hadn't even been old enough to witness the events that molded Vandlo's death. And Layla had been kind long enough. She had tried to be considerate and loving and tried, on various occasions, to be there for her, but she always shut the door in her face.

She felt nothing but disgust.

"She is also a thief and a compulsive liar," she added, "and her goal in life is to see me dead."

"And do you not deserve it?" asked Lisa quietly.

"Why should I pay for the sins of my father?" she started defensively. "I never asked for this life, yet it was shoved down my throat. Do you think I'm enjoying myself?"

"You have everything."

"I had nothing."

"Layla," started Starrk testily, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She moved away, allowing it to drop and stared straightly at the woman. Her hands tightly clenched, knuckles blanched. "Roxanne was a toddler when _our _father was murdered. She couldn't possibly recall those events. All she has are the words of a spiteful old hag that hated _our _mother." Eyes widened in slight astonishment as she rose to her feet, setting the cup of tea atop a table. "And if you didn't already know, we're half-sisters. Starrk."

He got to his feet as she brushed past them, Shinji jumping out of his seat, shooting a glare at Lisa, who merely shrugged.

"Oi, Layla, hold on."

She whirled around, allowing Starrk to move past her toward the exit, and faced the blond straightly. "Convince that idiotic child to prepare her bags and send someone to retrieve Rye, I will return on the third day to send them to safety and to bring you along."

"Where are ya planning to stay?"

"That is not your business. You are to follow direction and expect me with your bags at the front of this home on the third day, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he remarked forcefully, eyebrow twitching.

"Excuse us."

She slammed the door on her way out, rattling the walls encasing it, and Shinji turned to see Lisa smiling victoriously.

"She's a tad sensitive, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'd recommend ya don't cross her, she's scarier than she looks."

Lisa got out of her seat. "I'll convince Roxanne. You should start packing. Three days can go by in a blur."

"This job better be worth the trouble."

"What are the benefits?"

Shinji smirked, putting a finger to his lips. "That's a secret."

* * *

Layla leaned into Starrk's chest, feeling his hands fiddling with her fingers as they sat together in solace. It had been a long day and they were both exhausted, but too restless to sleep. Tomorrow they would head into the nearest church to marry, where they might have to coerce a clergyman to perform the ceremony. There wasn't enough time for them to escape so far that no marriage laws applied to them, either way, it was in their jurisdiction to bend the regulations—temporarily modify them, per se. It's what Starrk suggested during their travels. It proved to be the best venture in their elopement. Their plans were the only thing buzzing in her mind.

As hours ticked like seconds, she grew excited. She had even procured a new dress for the occasion, of a light pink shade with a matching bonnet decorated in fresh flowers and ribbons. It had taken her all afternoon to decide on a dress that she ended up feeling horrible about dragging Starrk around when he looked so exhausted. He countlessly told her he didn't mind, but she didn't believe him. She bought him a frock coat for tomorrow as means of an apology, but she couldn't really say she bought it because he paid before she dug out her money from the bottom of her purse. He kept doing that throughout the trip. It was understandable he had so much money to spend since he received his deceased parent's inheritance upon turning twenty. He was properly the Viscount L'Isle and had gained the property of his home where he spent the first years of his childhood alongside his parents. So, he didn't need whatever his grandfather provided or the bouts of money gathered while performing a set of odd jobs in the Luisenbarn Court. He told her very little about himself. He never spoke of that sort of thing, as she never talked about her past. The past was a sensitive subject for both.

They only knew their present selves.

Starrk folded his right leg at her side, resting an arm atop his knee. He twined their fingers together as he leaned his back against the huddle of pillows they stacked in front of the headboard.

"I haven't given you a ring," he observed, pressing the pad of his thumb over her ring finger.

She laid her head against his shoulder, looking to her left hand. "I wasn't expecting a ring," she susurrated. "We agreed to elope on such short notice."

He dropped her hand and pushed against her back, forcing her to straighten out as he slipped out of their comfortable position. He padded across the room to where they dropped their bags and dug through the pockets of his last two jackets and pants. She crawled over the bed, dropping onto her stomach to watch him with her arms propped up and palms cupping her face.

"You have a ring?"

"It was my mother's," he remarked quietly.

"Oh?"

She was thankful his back was turned as her expression dropped and a chilling emotion forced her stomach to plummet. He was giving her a ring of sentimental value.

She had to take a deep breath to stare him in the face without a trace of underlying emotion as he approached her with a glinting jewel pinched between his index finger and thumb. She slid onto a seat as he turned to drop down on the bed beside her, staring at the clustered, rose-cut garnet ring in his hand. He took her by the hand and gently brought it closer before sliding the sleek band into her ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

"Your fingers always looked thinner," he commented, looking to her with a brazen smile. "Do you like it?"

She could only stare at the brilliant garnets and unblemished gold band. There were tiny diamonds embedded between the every center cluster. She almost couldn't accept it and shot him a nearly pleading glance, but nodded.

"It's borrowed," he said suddenly. "That should come in handy."

The words instantly clicked in her mind. "You stole it from your grandfather?"

"As a child," he eased. "My mother would have given it to you herself if she were able."

"You think?"

He nodded assuredly.

"Then I will marry you, this ring is really quite lovely."

"I thought you weren't expecting one."

"Yes, but now that I have one there's more reason as to why I should marry you," she remarked smartly, looking back to the garnet. "The workmanship on this ring is absolutely breathtaking. It must have cost your father a fortune."

"My father made it himself."

The sentimental value doubled as she tried to process the very thought. "He did?"

"It was one of his saner hobbies," he added with a slight smile. "It was a pastime, so he never sold any of his work, merely decorated my mother in them. The ring came with a matching necklace, but my grandfather hid it somewhere."

"Your father was incredibly talented," she murmured in complete awe. "What was he like?"

"Insane," he surmised curtly.

She smiled brightly. "Is that any way to speak of your father?"

"He was never serious, always running around Penthurst Hall without a care, ignored his studies, preferring to play with his nieces and nephews. Nobody in nobility took him seriously. He spent most of his time inside his study making women's jewelry for my mother. He would lock himself in there for weeks working on a new piece. He had an eye on her from the moment they met, I heard."

"He sounds wonderful," she said, envisioning a man religiously placing stones upon a band with the utmost care while thinking of the woman he loved. "And your mother? How did she take his advances?"

"She had an unmatched reputation among her sisters. She was the oldest with many suitors until the enemy waltzed right by with a ring, ready to propose. He chased her down everywhere and showered her with priceless gifts until she started giving him the light of day. The Duke of Norwich always said my father had absolutely no shame."

"A familiar trait, I see," she remarked, earning a playful glare from her betrothed.

"I only resemble my father in looks."

"What a handsome man he was," she cooed, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his lips. "It's a shame I will never be allowed the chance to meet your parents."

He agreed. "But, you can meet my grandfather. He asks about you in every letter."

"But I already know your grandfather; he doesn't seem to like me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "The Duke of Norwich."

"The Duke of Norwich?" she asked, surprised. "You are definitely full of surprises. I never knew you kept in touch or that he even knew about us."

Starrk sat up, moving forward to press his forehead against hers and held her hands tightly atop her lap. "I had a plan."

"A plan, my lord?"

"Yes, my lady."

"And may I know what this lucrative plan was?"

"I was to find the woman I love and take her away, with or without her permission, to marry."

"How savage."

"I am a determined man."

"I am appalled," she enunciated with a shake of her head. "And what did you plan to do after painting yourself the villain to an innocent woman?"

"Ravish her, perhaps," he replied, "but, I am a gentleman. I would let her come to me. But, I would also be content with her simply being mine."

"What a fortunate woman she is," she remarked slyly, pressing her hand against his chest. "I am incredibly jealous."

"You're insane, Layla."

She placed both hands to his face and kissed his lips deeply. "Thank you for the ring," she said in a hush. "I will cherish it with my life."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder. His hands slid up her arms to carefully rest over the curve of her shoulders as he inhaled deeply and her intoxicating scents filled him like a mist. She draped her arms over his slouched form and tugged him closer until she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. She felt cold after their bath together, so she wanted to be latched to him until they could truly be one. "Where will we go?"

"The Duke of Norwich offered his home in the country," he grumbled, twisting his head to rest his cheek against her shoulder and burrowed his face into the curve of her neck. "He'll keep us as far from the families as possible."

"Is he not involved himself?"

"No, he refused. He severed ties with his brother for that reason."

"How awful."

"He has his peace. He doesn't seem to mind." He yawned widely, closing his eyes as he wound his arms about her waist, pushing her into the pillows with his weight. "We'll be safe there."

She swallowed hard, stealing glances at the beautiful ring perched on her finger staring back at her. She was scared.

"Who were you writing to yesterday?"

She blinked. "To the Duchess of Cambridge, my corresponding was overdue." He smiled against her flesh. His slight beard tickled. "I asked someone at the front desk to send my letter off immediately. It was urgent business."

"Did you…?" he trailed off, incredulous, lifting his eyes to meet her guilt-ridden expression.

"I do hope you don't mind me inviting the duchess to our wedding. She's been incredibly bored lately that I felt terrible not asking her to come. And you know she won't say a thing and she might appear at her lonesome. Nobody would know. We probably need a witness to make our union concrete."

Her words came out like a slur and it seemed she had forgotten to breathe until she took a deep gulp of air, her chest rising and falling slowly. He stared at her with the same incredulity before a playful spark appeared in his eyes.

"You're not angry?"

He shook his head. "Invite whoever you wish."

"You would really let me get away with anything, wouldn't you Starrk?" She giggled, resting her head against the pillows.

She said it in a joking manner, but it had an odd ring to his ears as if he missed a few details.

Starrk pushed the thoughts from his mind and rested against her body, eyes closed.

"Yeah," he answered shortly. "I would."

* * *

Aizen held an unfolded letter in his hand as Soifon entered his study to answer to his call.

The petite woman stood straight at the center of a patterned rug, staring at him decisively. He reached for a sealed piece of parchment—two pages folded messily with neat handwriting that read, _Duke of Burgundy_. He stretched his arm out before her with the letter pinched between two fingers.

"Deliver this to the Duke of Burgundy in London," he ordered crisply. "Await his response and deliver it to Layla once you track her down. She'll understand what to do."

"Yes my lord." She bowed her head appropriately and left his study without questioning his orders. Somehow, everything made better sense once his plans went into play. She figured this was some part of his ploy since he had been quite docile in his approach to his heir's elopement with the Luisenbarn heir.

Aizen returned to his seat behind the large desk and caught Tōsen approaching through his peripheral.

"It seems Miss Layla has hired Shinji Hirako as her bodyguard."

A smile curved his lips as he shook his head with slight disappointment. "What a careless child."

"I've received news of Lord Wedgeworth and Mr. Bentley."

"What is it?"

"It seems someone has told them about the real heirs. Miss Layla caught their attention. She is the easiest target. There are various rumors booming through London."

"Is she being targeted?"

"By many," Tōsen confirmed with a nod. "Many groups plan to kidnap the lady and extort money from the family, while Wedgeworth hopes to torture information out of her before killing her."

"Soifon may be able to reach her before she is captured or murdered," answered Aizen passively, but waved a hand. "Send Madarame to London to be certain of her safety."

"Of course, my lord."

He waited until Tōsen left the room, strumming his fingers along the sleek surface of his desk while staring at the handwriting on the unfolded letter: "_Wedgeworth took the bait. He will receive progressive updates from my mole. I will meet you within the next two weeks."_

"Jaelle?"

He directed his gaze to a tiny aperture of the door leading into his bedroom and the shadowed form of a woman crouched to have an eyeful of his surroundings and eavesdrop on any incriminating conversations. She shamelessly stretched out and slipped into the room, fixing the wrinkles of her skirt and shooting him a suspicious look.

"If Aishe is endangered, I won't forgive you."

"Layla is capable of taking care of herself."

"What are you plotting?" she asked straightly.

"I am not plotting anything, Jaelle," he replied smoothly. "I will be as shocked as you will be once life runs its course for Layla and her viscount." He shot her a strange look. "Do ready yourself, though, Layla is doing something incredibly reckless in a city run by individuals set on capturing and murdering her. Anything could happen."

"You're contradicting yourself."

"Am I?"

"Is she safe or in danger? I want a straight answer."

"Viscount L'Isle is a capable man," answered Aizen swiftly. "Levelheaded and intelligent. He is always armed and has is an impeccable shot. Layla has also bought the ex-chief of the Scotland Yard and you already know of the things he's capable of. Layla is in no particular danger, not unless she stupidly jeopardizes herself along the way."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Soifon and Ikkaku are being sent to London, as well," he said, tucking the folded paper underneath a stack of books before lifting his eyes to her. "Is that enough assurance?"

"I can't believe I'm forced to trust you," she said acridly.

"If it upsets you, you are free to leave," he replied. "Abandon Layla, Roxanne, and Rye if you prefer your connections to some foreign queen than the life of your children. I doubt they'll mind your absence. You were given multiple chances to remain at their sides and ran in the opposite direction."

"I wasn't given any options."

The calculating male pushed himself off his chair and languidly approached the fierce woman. She stood defiantly, backing up her words in her mind. She had fighting words. She had the strength necessary to stand against this tyrant.

"You were offered marriage and a luxurious home." His expression turned placid. "You refused them to live your lie with that gypsy and bore him two children—"

"—and then you killed Vandlo," she interjected fiercely, "in front of all my children."

"I was a reckless youth, Jaelle."

Her anger boiled. "Are you saying my husband's death was fueled by your recklessness? Did he died because you were young?"

"He should not have threatened me," he remarked evenly.

"Do you hear yourself speak?" she cried, crumbling the skirt of her dress. "Are you listening to yourself? You murdered the love of my life because you were a _threatened, reckless youth._"

"I don't bode well with rejection, either, Jaelle," he continued. "You know that."

Jaelle stiffened. "You disgust me."

He smirked. "Let's be frank, Jaelle," he started. "In our current situation, who is worse? I, who rightfully claimed my daughter upon your disappearance, and sent money to feed your bastard children from that day forward, or you, who chose to run away from all your troubles and meddle into unknown territory—you who went to Douglas Gray as a prostitute to give information to Queen Victoria because that's what your queen ordered. Who is disgusting? Me or you?"

Her fisted hands were trembling as her eyes blazed.

"How do you know that?" she demanded through clenched teeth.

"How?" he asked mockingly. "That's a redundant question. You already know the answer."

Her gaze saddened at a sudden realization. "You're going to tell her, aren't you?"

"Who am I to destroy Layla's image of her mother? I'd rather her think you dead than a traitor."

Tears glazed her bright eyes and she silently crumbled, standing there just as defiant, trembling as if she were standing in the middle of a snowstorm wearing nothing but thin rags. She had become a pitiful woman in her absence, but inside there were still traces of the gypsy that had enamored him twenty-six years ago.

Clear droplets marked their trails upon her cheeks and dripped to the ground between them as she struggled to stifle her sobs. "You ruined everything," she choked. "How can you say such cruel things when you're the one who ruined my life?"

"You ruined mine."

"You ruined your own life!" she cried in the midst of her devastation. "I did nothing! Nothing!"

"You may have Layla," he started, talking over her ridiculous display of emotion. "Listen to me well, Jaelle." She lifted her eyes to his face, bloodshot and dripping. "You may have Layla as she has chosen you, but if you run away from her again, I'll kill you."

"I'm not running away," she grumbled fiercely.

"If you are the cause to her endangerment," he continued, ignoring her. "I will kill you."

"That's not my—"

"If you tell her the honest truth, I will kill you."

"Stop—"

"If you cause her heartache, I will kill you." He paused, staring her down viciously before replacing his frightening expression with a calmer countenance, one without a trace of his cruelty or frustration. He allowed his smile to return to his face, kind and courteous—opposite of his true nature—and his brown eyes glinted with the slightest hint of amusement. "Do you understand?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Now, get out."

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

I'm dreading the following chapters because as you can see, there is so much going on beneath the lines that it's not even funny! Regrettably, nothing is going to make sense for a long, long time, but don't fret...everything will be settled before the end (which should come in approximately 10 chapters.) I planned Masquerade to be a 40 chapter story, but as you can see-not gonna happen. I'll be done with the Lying Game by 40. Then, I start setting the stage for the bigger events!

Also, you get to learn a bit of Jaelle. I feel bad for Layla. Both her parent's are dicks (in their own right) with redeeming qualities. It's the most contradicting thing I've ever written. I'm ashamed!


	38. Lying Game 3

**Masquerade**

Chapter 38

-_**Lying Game 3**_-

_Understand_

_The Sadness of the Heart,_

_You will need it._

"I might faint," Layla admitted abruptly, looking at her fiancé pleadingly.

Starrk regarded his fiancée with an arched eyebrow. "Are you nervous?"

The morning dragged on after they finished breakfast. Layla had picked up a book while he chose to catch up on much-needed sleep. Regardless, the minutes were ticking by slowly and it looked like the anxiety had finally gotten to his bride.

She dropped her book on her lap and slapped both hands to her face, the garnet ring glinting vibrantly beneath a stream of sunlight. "I feel like I'm about to burst. There are butterflies in my stomach—I've never felt so nervous before in my life!"

"Everything will be fine," he assured, pushing another pillow underneath his head.

"You don't know that," she argued.

"It's better to stay positive," he said calmly. "The worst that can happen would be running into my family or yours."

Her expression changed dramatically. "What if we run into both?"

"Impossible."

She frowned. "You should have refrained from saying that. I am now dreading it," she murmured painfully. "I can see it now; they'll likely tear us apart and shut us into adjacent towers to watch us suffer."

He watched her through half-lidded eyes; her lips were upturned in the deepest grimace he had seen in the past few days, but it never affected her beauty. Women don't always look attractive when simultaneously fighting anxiety and anger (let alone exaggerate the emotions in the slightest), most might seem pained, but Layla seemed to have the right features for it.

Starrk read the emotions from her face. If there was anything about her appearance, it was that there always existed some sense of honesty in it. If acknowledged, one could see varying emotion, but if not, one could succumb to her manipulation. He understood her. So, he easily saw the anguish scrawled behind a forced grimace.

"What are you afraid of Layla?" he asked perceptively, eyes flickering upward to meet hers.

Layla slid across the bed to rest her back against his body. He adjusted against the slight weight of her form, rolling onto his side with a pillow underneath his head and folded his legs at her side. She sunk into him with a deep sigh and looked to the decorative canopy over their heads.

"This is everything I could ever want," she started honestly, resting her hands on her lap. "I willingly accepted your offer because being at your side is what I want more than anything." She craned her neck back and turned to face him. "Wouldn't you be afraid knowing there is so much on the line? Wouldn't you be absolutely terrified?"

Starrk remained silent. He knew the feeling all too well and dreaded the dawn of its remembrance.

He knowingly succumbed to temptation in Vinnlake Hall. He allowed Robin Talbot a few hours of his time because he refused to tarnish Layla's virtue, if he wasn't the one to marry her. He didn't want to ruin future possibilities for her, but his desire for her grew with every passing day.

It started simply, a feeling at the pit of his stomach bursting at the feel of her delicate touch, but it progressively worsened. Her kiss, as gentle as her lips pressed against his, intensified and it ached having to resist his desire. She stirred his passions with every night they spent huddled up underneath heavy blankets, bodies pressed so tightly together they seemed to have been missing pieces of the same puzzle. He felt her body, delicate but firm, slight but womanly. It made keeping his hands from her impossible.

Then, he made his mistake. Robin Talbot found his weakness. The mere scent of Layla drove him insane and her perfume always lingered in the air around his ex-mistress. He lost Layla for a few grueling months because of what he had done.

He understood the feeling she spoke of. He felt it throughout his stay at Vinnlake Hall. There were already many secrets between them; horrible revelations about his very being that may ruin their relationship.

He didn't acknowledged them since they eloped, but they still existed.

Layla was everything he needed, so it scared him to believe there was a possibility of losing her, again.

"I am terrified," he admitted, reaching to brush his knuckles against her cheek to ease his and her anxiety somehow, "but we are together, so don't worry about it."

"You can't ask me to not worry about it and expect me to do it," she complained. "I'll worry more!"

"Worry about it," he suggested laxly, tucking a folded arm beneath his head as he watched her lips twitch.

"I will," she answered decidedly, nodding firmly.

Starrk tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving Layla's fidgeting form, and continued trying to measure his affections for this woman. He loved her dearly and neither fear nor anxiety nor their own families combined would stop that afternoon's marriage from happening.

"Layla," he called after a brief silence.

She turned, waves of auburn hair curtaining her face and careful eyes watching him expectantly. "Yes?"

_She is perfect._

"I love you."

A smile appeared on her face, tiny and seemingly insignificant, and her eyes dropped to the small space between them before she looked to him again. It had only been a second before she answered, repeated his words with a strain in her tone but the same sincerity. "I love you."

He wondered why he noticed the slightest of peculiarities in her and why they bothered him so much. He felt a deep, dark feeling sneaking its way through him—_trouble, perhaps?_

Starrk closed his eyes. "Wake me when its time."

"How can you possibly sleep?" she cried, shaking him by the shoulder. "We're about to coerce a clergyman to marry us three hours from now."

He smiled, reopening his eyes to see the panic in her eyes. "Breathe Layla," he lazily suggested. "I want a wife at the end of this day, not a—"

Starrk interrupted himself as he watched her expression fall.

"…A corpse?" she finished questionably.

He didn't know what he meant to say until she did it herself.

"Why would you say that?" she asked in a mere whisper.

Starrk pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at her with the same bewilderment. He hinted at it, yet he, himself, didn't understand why he said something troublesome.

"An accident," he said slowly. "I didn't mean it like…"

"Please excuse me," she said, slipping out of bed and leaving the room. He watched her reach for something from a nearby table before disappearing into their adjacent quarters.

He followed her lead, leaving the canopy and stepping towards the doorway to hear her shuffling things around—glass clanking, fabrics rubbing against each other, and soon after, the heavy trunk opening and closing.

Layla was rummaging through her things until she pulled her new dress from its confide. Light pink, simple, and beautiful; she held it before her eyes for a lengthy minute before spreading it over a nearby chair.

"Are you…?"

"I want to get ready," she said softly. She didn't bother to look in his direction and he felt a distance between, one he couldn't understand. "Sleep, I'll wake you before time."

* * *

Rovina Stephenson, Duchess of Cambridge, held an ivory cup pressed against her lips as its warm contents slid down her throat. Her eyes were focused on the petite woman dressed in a collared black uniform and white apron holding a silver tray filled with unopened letters.

"This is your morning's post, your grace," said the girl respectfully.

An amused smile drew her lips, taking in the sight of the influx of mail awaiting her attentions. "Well, aren't I quite popular this morning?" she said playfully as she waved her hand toward the glass table in front of her. "Leave them there."

The maidservant set the tray atop the table and bowed deeply, excusing herself.

Rovina placed her cup on a squared table beside her seat and reached for a handful of letters. Most were invitations to casual gatherings, birthday celebrations, elegant galas, the occasional correspondence between her parents, and finally, a letter from Layla. She nearly tore it open with excitement, not having been expecting it at all, and unfolded the neatly folded post.

_Dear Rovina,_

_Forgive me for not telling you about my early departure. That is a story best saved for our next encounter, but I am happy to hear you are in great company. Excuse me for rushing, but I hope you receive this letter on time as I have the greatest news. I've eloped with Viscount L'Isle and we are to marry late this afternoon._

Her eyes had gone wide and her heart jumpstarted into action. She almost couldn't believe the words scrawled on that paper, written in Layla's elegant handwriting. It was legitimate. Her dearest friend had eloped with the Viscount L'Isle and they were to marry late that afternoon. The excitement elicited a squeal of absolute delight from her as her eyes quickly skimmed through the rest of the open letter. The remainder extended an invitation to her. Layla said it was "absolutely imperative" for her greatest friend to attend the ceremony.

…_you may invite your persistent visitor if it is your desire._

Rovina bolted out of her seat and hugged the letter to her chest; a broad smile lit her expression with immeasurable delight. Emotion swelled in her chest as though she were an expectant bride watching as the minutes ticked perpetually with the grand ceremony only an hour away. She felt the flutter of anxiety when a pair of heels clicked to a halt and a throat was noisily cleared, drawing her attention.

"Your grace, you have a visitor."

The duchess whirled around, pleasantly surprised to see Jūshirō Ukitake standing beside her maidservant by the doorway, looking as dashing as always. Her smile grew wider as an idea emerged from the excitement threatening to clutter her mind. She dismissed her servant with the wave of her hand and strode toward the gentleman.

"I was about to call for you, my lord," she said pleasantly, presenting her hand for him to kiss. "I am grateful to your surprising visit."

She felt the tickle of his breath as he brought her gloved hand to his lips, eyes fixed on her teasing expression. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"A private wedding ceremony," she replied, waving the folded letter before him. "We are to witness an elopement late this afternoon, and I would like you to accompany me. I won't take no for an answer."

He chuckled, all propriety defenestrated with a simple assurance. "As you wish, your grace," he said with a slight bow. "Who are the lucky couple?"

She swept through her surroundings before leaning closer to the taller male, assuming the servants were far from earshot. "Layla Aizen and the Viscount L'Isle," she whispered, taking precautions. And as she watched the man's expression change drastically to one of absolute horror, she curled her fingers over the lapels of his coat. Her eyes met his directly, a spur of emotion spiraled down her body when she realized the outrageous proximity, which she struggled to ignore. "I understand the wrong in their elopement, my lord, but if they have loved each other before they set foot into Vinnlake Hall, who are we to separate them?"

He contemplated her words for a few seconds before his face smoothed into complete understanding. If Rovina had learned a thing about this man, it had to be his peaceful nature and his acceptance of all. He nodded calmly. "We must offer our support. The road for them will be turbulent and they will need as many friends as they can manage."

"I hoped you'd understand."

He allowed a smile to grace his lips. "You said it best—who are we to separate them?"

Rovina matched his smile cordially, dropping her hand from his chest and turning away. "Where were you all my youth?" she breathed hopelessly. "I might not have been this miserable." She shot him a playful look and gesticulated to the seat across the glass table. "Have a seat, my lord. It must have been a rough trip for you."

"Ah, thank you." Jūshirō seemed to have hesitated as he found his seat. He placed both hands over his knees and noticed the duchess' avid stare.

A mischievous smile curved her lips as she picked up a tiny silver bell to beckon her maid.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Question?" he asked tentatively.

"Where were you all my youth?" she repeated as she reached for her teacup.

He chuckled nervously. "That isn't an inappropriate question, your grace. You are married."

"Not happily." She shrugged, hearing skittish steps come to a halt, and turned back to face her servant. "Bring tea for my guest."

The maid stayed long enough to hear the duchess's order before disappearing out the door.

Rovina looked at Jūshirō, smiling effervescently. "I've done it, haven't I?"

"What?" he asked skeptically.

"I've made you uncomfortable."

"Oh, no, not at all," he answered quickly, waving his hands nervously. "I'm used to it."

She fought the urge to laugh as she took a sip of her lukewarm tea. "Here I thought I wasn't harassing you enough," she joked with a slight giggle.

"Your grace!" he cried, face flushing.

She laughed.

* * *

The Duchess of Cambridge hugged Layla so tightly it hurt, before pulling away with both hands holding her arms and placed a kiss on both her cheeks. Beside the redhead was a smiling Jūshirō Ukitake heartily shaking hands with Starrk with congratulatory praise (for their bravery). He was the man Layla expected would accompany the duchess from what their correspondences had been in the past few weeks and it amazed her how easily he had taken the news, save a few minutes of shock a good five minutes in a moving carriage didn't smooth.

"Is this everyone?" grumbled the coerced clergyman from an elaborately decorated altar.

Starrk spun around on his heel and approached him. "Take a deep breath, father," he said as he came to a halt before him. "This is a capital crime you are committing."

"Don't tease him!" cried Layla. "Isn't it enough of a crime to have pointed a pistol at him?"

"Wouldn't it have been easier to request a special license?" Jūshirō asked curiously.

It would have saved them plenty of trouble if they had, but they were on borrowed time. They couldn't afford wasting a single minute of it because of the consequences, so they wandered into the church of Layla's choice, (her family's church coincidentally) and she asked kindly. The clergyman greeted her all smiles and asked about her family, completely disregarding her smartly dressed fiancé taking in the sights of the tiny building's interior. Layla veered through pleasant conversation quite skillfully until the balding man asked for the purpose of her visit. He might have considered confession to be reason, but she quickly told the man to marry her to the viscount immediately.

Obviously, he refused because they didn't go through any required processes and didn't have a marriage license. They didn't have a proper engagement because they had eloped and it wasn't long before he started lecturing them about their hasty decision.

It was around that time that Starrk stopped next to the man and held his gun against the holy man's temple.

Somehow, Starrk's idea worked better than hers did.

"That's too long a story to tell now," Layla admitted quickly.

Layla gestured for her two guests to follow to the front of the church where they took a seat upon the pew.

"What do you two plan to do?" Rovina asked worriedly, reaching to take her friend's gloved hand.

Layla placed her hand over the duchess' gently and smiled easy. "I will send letters and tell you everything," she said quietly. "I wanted you to be here with me."

Rovina smiled in appreciation. "I would do anything for you, dear."

"Thank you."

"Layla, our clergyman is growing restless," called Starrk, a tad impatient.

Layla smiled at the duchess' companion and walked down the aisle hastily, taking her fiancé's outstretched hand. Her stomach flipped as she felt the warmth of his hand begin to spread throughout her body.

"Everyone is here," she said to the clergyman. "Start when you're comfortable."

The old priest grimaced as he cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved," started the clergyman, giving both the sourest look he could muster, "we are gathered here in the presence of these witnesses…"

Her nerves refused to settle as the ceremony proceeded, even as Starrk squeezed her hand for comfort and assurance. An internal dread refused to let her enjoy the moment. She might have fainted for various other reasons, but she simply took deep, calming breaths to get her through the afternoon.

_Please,_ she uttered mentally, eyes skyward to the gold decorations and the clicking chandeliers. _Please_.

She couldn't wish hard enough.

* * *

The Duchess of Cambridge watched the newlyweds ride off on a pair of horses and merrily waved them, praying they evaded any looming dangers. She had seen nothing but happiness that afternoon. Being together meant everything to Layla and the viscount. She was almost jealous they loved each other dearly because they were the reflection of what she wished she had with her duke, when that marriage continued spiraling out of control.

"Do you think they will be well?"

"The Viscount L'Isle is the most resourceful man within the Three Families and quite possibly the most reliable," admitted Jūshirō sincerely. "I trust Miss Layla will be more than fine at his side."

Rovina couldn't shake her worry. "What about the Fourth Family? If they learn about this marriage and their situation, they would immediately become a target."

"Your grace," he called soothingly. "Miss Layla is in the safest place. The viscount will let no harm befall his wife."

She grabbed him by the arm. "Are you absolutely certain?"

Jūshirō nodded with an easy smile. "He will care for her far better than anyone else," he assured, placing a hand over hers. "Worry not, your grace, Miss Layla and his viscount will be well."

"And if they aren't?"

He glared at her playfully, his smile never fading. "…If they reach a snag in the road, there will always be someone around willing to aid them."

Rovina looked forward, down the road, but no longer saw the newly married couple. Her features soften and a smile found its way to her face. "I truly hope for the best."

She sighed deeply and looked to her yellow dress. She thought the occasion called for a newly tailored dress, but the ceremony practically sped by. If she had kept track of the time, she could have sworn the ceremony had only taken five minutes.

"Do you have other plans, your grace?"

Rovina slid her arm over his and looked up to him with a friendly smile. "Well, no," she admitted, toying with the soft fabric of her skirt. "I can't think of any pending duties, but I do have a new dress on and it would be a shame for it to go to waste. It would be positively shameful."

Jūshirō caught onto her hint, almost as if he had read her mind. "Why don't we take a walk to show off your wonderful dress?"

"Wonderful?"

"It is wonderful on you."

She flushed a light shade of pink, but shook her head in dismissal. "Let's see pretend we don't know where this road will take us and be amazed once we reach the garden."

Jūshirō directed his attention down the congested street, full of people wandering through the roads to gawk at the displays in a line of boutiques and enjoy the slight breeze that sunny afternoon. "I'm sure there'll be something beyond this crowd to catch our fancy."

Though, most nobles had fled to their countryside homes to avoid the London heat, a scarce amount of members of the Three Families (those known to be among the living since the Vinnlake Hall attack) and their beneficiary stayed in their nearby homes. The beneficiary usually waited until the Families finished any pending duties and they were given appropriate permission to depart, much like the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, who were advised to return to their countryside estate.

The Duke of Cambridge immediately accepted after a rumored argument with the duchess. The duchess, herself, said he left to tend to his official duties, but the workers within her private London mansion were talking all about the duke's infidelity.

Jūshirō didn't need to ask her about it, not that he wanted to. The duchess suffered enough because, though they spurred as rumors throughout the London streets, the truth was, the Duke of Cambridge was unfaithful. And it wasn't simply known; he had a mistress who had given him a child and a gypsy girl with whom he was enamored. His infidelity was a fact. Everybody knew.

While he paid no heed to the maids inside the duchess' home, Jūshirō could read the sadness forever etched in her expression. But that same melancholy, though present and aching, was beginning to fade.

Rovina could finally smile.

"London is so humid in the summer," she complained, fanning her face with her hand. "We should have traveled to the beaches instead, the breeze may be better there."

"We could also try the countryside, the air is fresher and cleaner," he suggested, "and the agriculture…it's fascinating."

Rovina clapped her hands together excitedly. "We must take a carriage to my countryside estate."

"I still have business in London, your grace," he said gently. "But if you allow me a few patient months, I am willing to accept your invitation."

"Perfect," she said elatedly. "I will make preparations."

* * *

Roxanne hauled a trunk full of things into the hallway with a grunt. She dragged it a few feet from the doorway before giving up completely and straightening out.

She stretched her arms over her head as a distant clattering reached her ears. Lisa had been working on a new pair of summer dresses for the Cullingham twins and it had been the only thing in her mind since. And Shinji had been too busy keeping Rye company, which bothered her.

Rye wasn't speaking to her. In fact, he hadn't looked her in the face since Shinji brought him into Lisa's home. It wasn't as if she tried to talk to him, let alone play nice. She didn't want to sit through (let alone stand) one of his berating lectures about morals and how siblings need to get along.

Roxanne would rather be dead than play the good sister with Layla. So, she would never bother, even if it were selfish.

A door opened and closed, footsteps started behind her. "Roxanne."

She turned to see Shinji slipping into a gray jacket and furrowed her eyebrows. "Where are you going?"

"Business," he said curtly, stopping at her side and cast a glance at the large trunk behind her. "Ya need help with that?"

She frowned. "What sort of business?"

"The sort that don't concern ya," he snapped, buttoning up the bottom of his jacket. "Are ya done packing?"

Roxanne kicked the trunk lightly. "It's the last of my possession, not that I had many to begin with."

"I won't be back until late."

She looked at him incredulously, before repeating her inquiry, but he had started making his way toward the door. "I want to know where you're going, not if you'll be back."

Shinji stopped after opening the front door, letting the moonlight slip into the hallway, and turned to face her, grinning from ear to ear. "Guess you'll never know."

The door slammed behind him.

Roxanne huffed and fell into a seat atop her trunk. Shinji's behavior had definitely been odd and the strangeness of it seemed to have upset her stomach. She wanted to follow him in secret, but learned her lesson after waltzing up to Wedgeworth's private house and nearly getting them killed. She was still feeling the repercussion then, as a social outcast.

* * *

Starrk could feel the brush of Layla's eyelashes against his cheek as he held her against the warmth of his body. She laid her head to rest beside his and for the longest time had been staring at him as her fingers drew circles over his naked torso. Her feathering touch left a tickling sensation long after her hand had settled against his tepid skin.

Thin wax candles provided most of their light that evening and freshly picked bouquets sat in their respective vases, filling the large room with varying shades of color. He order for the room to be prepared for their first night married and together, he and Layla, enjoyed a bottle of fine wine before stumbling into bed full of laughter. They had stared into each other's eyes before he snaked his arm around and pulled her hard against his chest. He kissed her hard and she had greedily taken control of him, leaving him dead exhausted as the night drew to a close.

They had already discussed their plans. Layla would meet with Shinji Hirako and send her half-siblings to safety, while he went on ahead to Penthurst Hall to prepare for their arrival and properly greet his grandfather, the Duke of Norwich. Layla would join him shortly with Shinji acting as her guard, it was a relieving factor, else he might've objected to her traveling alone.

Everything was perfect; they only needed to live life now.

"Will we be safe?" she asked, hot breath warming his neck.

Starrk took her hand and twined their fingers gently. "Feel safe with me, Layla."

She closed her eyes at the sound of his soft tone, fingers twitching as he dropped their intertwined hands over his chest. And she did feel safe with him, loved, and so overbearingly protected. She almost couldn't stand it and that was incredibly underappreciated of her. Starrk was doing so much to keep her out of harm's way and she lay at his bedside restless with a hummingbird's heartbeat worrying about consequences when her body needed sleep.

"I do," she said passively, "forgive me."

Starrk stared at the shadowed canopy for quite a long time before his eyes sleepily closed and he found peace in slumber. Layla hadn't budged in his arms, which meant she resigned to her exhaustion. He had nothing to worry about, he told himself repeatedly. His head said otherwise. There were so many danger lurking in the shadows for them, waiting for any member of the Three Families to slip or falter—any sign of weakness would do and love most certainly proved to be the deadliest.

Once Layla was certain Starrk was in deep slumber, she slipped out of his grasp and slid off the bed. She reached for her discarded nightgown and redressed herself. Slipping on a robe from an armchair, she entered the adjacent room where she took a seat in the nearest loveseat that sat underneath a tall window.

Layla leaned her head back to rest, folded her legs before her, eyes strained but wide open, and held her left hand over her field of vision. The clustered garnet ring stared back at her, glinting beautifully beneath the soft glow of the candles.

"I do," she recited quietly, reminded of that moment before the clergyman who married them. She couldn't stop herself from shaking until the ceremony concluded and Rovina scooped her up into her arms tightly. "I do."

…_I always will._

For an entire hour, Layla didn't budge from her position and stared at her ring pensively.

* * *

Shinji Hirako helped Layla dismount her horse and as her booted feet touched the pavement, she tugged off a pair of white gloves. She had already greeted her newly appointed bodyguard and Lisa Yadomaru, who briskly returned her greeting and walked back into her home with her arms folded over her chest to beckon Roxanne and Rye out.

"Where d'ya plan to send 'em?"

Layla pivoted to face Shinji's direction. "Home," she divulged. "Rye may be considered a man by society's standards, but he is in need of a proper education and Roxanne needs a mother. So, I made arrangements for them to stay with our mother."

Shinji arched an eyebrow. "I though ya three didn't have a mother."

"Jaelle Harmon, yes, and she is very much alive," she uttered nonchalantly, shooting a glance over her shoulder to the approaching footsteps. "Lisa Yadomaru may be better acquainted with the information, but…" She turned her attention back to the ex-chief, "I'd rather not delve into unknown territory before fully enjoying my honeymoon."

"Quite a honeymoon without yer husband around," snorted Shinji.

Layla merely smiled, taking a step back to face the doorway to see Roxanne step out in ordinary gypsy clothing, but decorated in expensive jewelry, when behind her, half a step behind, emerged Rye tugging free the neck-tie wound too tight for comfort.

Rye rushed to Layla immediately after spotting her and hugged her tightly, to Roxanne's disapproval (which she made known with a haughty scoff). She pulled away from him and excitedly gave his look an onceover. He looked positively dashing in an expertly tailored gray suit and his messy hair combed and styled.

"Look how handsome you are!"

He smiled politely, continuously tugging at the tie. "Do these clothes suit me? I find them a bit stuffy."

"They suit you just fine," she urged sincerely.

"I've heard many rumors, but hoped that none applied to you—have you been well?" he raged worriedly, holding her hands gently between his. He scanned her from for any sign of hurt, but his smile doubled over when he saw nothing horrible had occurred since he last saw his eldest sister. "You look well."

"I am great," she answered assuredly. "You needn't worry for me. I am capable of taking care of myself."

Rye's green eyes flashed with slight annoyance as Roxanne guffawed purposefully. "Forgive me, Layla, it's that I'm so used to worrying over childish little girls to realize you're much wiser when it comes to decision making."

"_Oh, please,_" scoffed Roxanne, rolling her eyes.

The trotting of horses and the rickety wheels of a drawn carriage reached Layla's ears and quickly she regarded it. A black horse-drawn carriage stopped a few feet from where she, Rye, and Shinji stood, so the tiny doorway faced the entrance of Lisa's home. The coach, an older male dressed in uniform, stepped down from his place and ambled toward her.

He bowed deeply. "Viscountess L'Isle, a pleasure it is to serve you."

Rye blinked. "Viscountess L'Isle?" he asked curiously, the name sounded familiar.

"I married the Viscount L'Isle yesterday evening, but you needn't follow social etiquette, you are my brother and—"

It hit him like a ton of bricks. "Viscount L'Isle like the Luisenbarn?" he breathed outrageously.

Layla gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "I will explain everything through correspondence," she eased, looking to the coach and gesturing to the Harmon siblings belongs before regarding her brother with a peaceful countenance. "I will write as many times possible and you must tell me everything."

The coach had everything loaded into the carriage in no time and goodbyes were said. Roxanne managed a haughty farewell to the ex-chief, still furious about his slip about her entanglements with the Duke of Cambridge (a subject she was quite sensitive toward and Layla had no right to know), and boarded the carriage with a wordless glare at her older sister. Layla still wished her the best. Rye hugged her once more and placed a kiss to her cheek.

"Take care of Roxanne," Layla urged. "Even if you are angry with her behavior, you two must stick together. Understand?"

He forcibly agreed. "Where are you sending us?"

She smiled lightly. "It's a surprise."

They hugged once more before he boarded the carriage with Roxanne. Layla handed the coach a sack full of gold coins before they were off down the road to begin a lengthy journey.

"I hope you don't mind having to share a horse for our own lengthy travel," said Layla, minutes later, as she moved to her horse with a slight smile.

"Aren't ya supposed to worry 'bout yer reputation as a married woman now?" asked the ex-chief, trailing a few steps behind.

"Perhaps."

Shinji merely shrugged his shoulders and helped her back onto her horse. "Ya really aren't the sort ta care are ya?"

"Not really," she replied, inching forward to allow him enough space before patting the back end of the saddle. "Come Shinji Hirako, there are a number of unpleasant days ahead."

Shinji took a deep breath.

It certainly looked that way.

"Well, suit yerself."

* * *

Roxanne was furious. Absolutely and irrevocably furious—to the point conversation was a futile attempt—she was a wall and her thoughts served and drowned in reasons for her temperament. Reasons to her were positively endless. She could find wrong in anything and it started feeling more like a talent than a flaw, as Hisana might have mentioned (a couple thousand times in her short, youthful existence).

It might have seemed childish to feel so disgustingly angry over a simple relocation that was meant for her and Rye's safety and nothing more, but it was Layla's doing. Had it been a cousin or her dead father leading the way, or a stranger that presented himself on Wednesdays, or a mime—she might have been fine with it, but it was Layla, her estranged, despicable older half-sister. Layla, whose mere existence ruined her and Rye's chances of having proper parents, offered them safety.

Roxanne was almost certain there was an ulterior motive and she was furious nobody else believed it, not even Shinji did. Roxanne trusted him and after the last two weeks, she was almost sure he had some trust in her, so for him to simply cast aside whatever they had established to join Layla over one short conversation. And he wouldn't listen to a word she said afterward. It wasn't as if Roxanne didn't try talking him out of it. She did, repeatedly after she found a lapse between her fury then and a momentary peace after a talk with Lisa.

"Why would you join her after one conversation?" she had demanded, furious, as she watched him pack from the doorway to his temporary bedroom. "Did she offer you sex or something?"

Shinji didn't bother looking in her direction. He was too busy packing up what short life he lived in Lisa Yadomaru home and that somehow made her stomach crunch in discomfort. He kept placing more neatly folded clothes into a suitcase, leaving the drawers barren.

"She's a lady, Roxanne," he answered defensively, "and not only that, she is engaged."

Roxanne huffed in disbelief. "Who'd wanna marry _her_?"

"Viscount L'Isle is crazier than I thought, it seems," he answered passively, brown orbs flickering upward to catch a glimpse of her twisting expression. "An' don't badmouth her, she's giving ya a place ta stay outta trouble an' a buncha other privileges. Got it?"

"She's marrying that tall, brooding man with her?" she questioned outrageously, ignoring the rest of his words. "He hardly said a word earlier."

"That's 'cause ya stormed out before he got a word or two in the conversation," he reminded her sarcastically.

"He's not even good looking!"

Shinji dropped a frock coat over the bed and turned with an arched eyebrow. "Are ya set on hating everything to do with Layla?"

"Are you saying he's good looking, eh?"

"Yer so nosy, I'm surprised ya haven't realized that man's the heir of a duchy and has a double inheritance if ya exclude his father, and he's easy on the eyes," he stated simply. "Now, if he wasn't so goddamned lazy, I'd consider him a threat, but he's practically harmless, whether or not he's the heir of the Luisenbarn."

Remembering that conversation infuriated Roxanne more as the road turned bumpy and her shoulder continued knocking into the carriage's interior painfully. She openly glared at an uncomfortable Rye before taking a deep breath—

"Did you see the ring on Layla's finger? Garnet cluster ring—and it looked real too," she started, deliberately snarky, not caring whether her older brother listened or not. Rye was staring back silently, though. "Shinji said she was engaged to the Viscount L'Isle, y'know that longhaired man that's always with her. The one that dresses sloppy, do you know him? _Ugh_! And can you believe she's trying to _"take us to safety"_? Who asked for her help? I bet she's setting us up. I swear I can feel it in my bones!"

…

Nothing but silence followed until Rye decided to break it.

"Done?"

"No," she replied snappishly.

"Shinji Hirako's opinions of you won't change after being around Layla," Rye stated calmly, "and if you think he's going to fall in love with her while you're out of the picture, you're sorely mistaken. Layla's happily _married _to the Viscount L'Isle—"

"What?" she cried incredulously. "They are _married_? You must be joking!"

"Roxanne," interjected Rye, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, "please shut up."

Roxanne bristled. "Don't tell me to shut—"

Rye's eyes flashed to meet hers, ablaze. "Be quiet, Roxanne," he seethed, speaking slowly but sternly. "You have done and said enough, and I don't have the goddamned patience to deal with your bad attitude."

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, insulted.

Rye, who had turned his face toward the window for a mere second, snapped back in his younger sister's direction. "Did you ever once consider any one else's feelings?" he asked condescendingly. "Did you ever take a moment to ask yourself, "_What am I doing?_" Did you once think about what you'd be doing to Hisana and Rangiku, who both have look up to you like one would a sister, or how I would feel?" He sounded more and more upset as he went on, voice growing louder. "Grandma Tsura left you in my charge when she passed and I have been breaking my back trying to advice you and force you back into line, but you never listen. And I'm finally done; you can ruin in your life all on your own, but don't come to me when it's all over."

Roxanne couldn't help but scoff. "I am not ruining my life and I don't need you to tell me if I am or not, understand?"

"Roxanne, I don't care," he restated stringently. "Keep being selfish, keep doing whatever it is you want, keep spiraling down, and just keep me out of all of this."

"I'm trying to do something with my life, Rye," she said defensively. "I didn't do half the things I've done because I wanted to have. I want to have a good life. Why should we have to suffer when we did nothing wrong to deserve this life?"

The emotion sparked in his eyes and it had been the first time she had ever seen him so angry. "We had enough! We may have lost our father and our mother might be gone, but Grandma Tsura has always been there and we were always provided for. We had clothes on our back and food in our stomachs, why isn't that enough for you?"

"Because _she _took everything good from our lives!" she shouted, nearly bursting out of her seat. "Our father died because of her—"

"He died for her," he interrupted. "He gave his life because he loved her as much as he did his own children. He did it so we as three would never have to be separated."

"Our mother left, too, because of her."

"Our mother ran away because she was a coward," he finally stated. "Layla has nothing to do with the decisions of our parents. It's probably easier for you to put the blame on her because you've always been jealous of everything she's had growing up alongside nobility."

"I'm not jealous of her!"

"Look at you," he said deprecatingly, "you're defensive."

A bump in the road caused her to shift abruptly in her seat and hit the other side of the tiny compartment. She opened her mouth to protest before addressing Rye's stupid claims for what they were—mere speculations and product of his anger—when a change of scenery beyond the tiny glass window caught her eye.

Roxanne shifted, pulled back the half-closed drapes and looked outside.

Rolling hills, abundant trees, and flourishing flowers came to view underneath the hot summer sun. Beyond the tiny village nestled at the tallest hill, she saw the large stone manor with tall glass windows sitting amongst lush evergreen grass.

When it was obvious the carriage was headed into the incredible manor's driveway, the conversation between brother and sister ceased and nothing but a stale silence remained. She was immediately fascinated by the sights and had automatically forgotten the severity of their argument.

In lesser than five minutes, the carriage came to a halt before the stairway to the entrance and the coach stepped down from his place to appear to open the door. The older male held his hand out to her, helping her out before standing aside for her to take in the sight of the home closely.

Rye stepped out a second after, eyes scouring the scene for familiarity.

"Who does this home belong to?" asked Roxanne, turning to the coach's direction.

The front doors opened noisily as a tall, elegantly dressed blond man stepped out with an auburn-haired young woman in a matching black dress stumbling to keep up with his stride. Both stopped before them, bowing appropriately, as one's servant would to their masters.

"I am William," said the blond courteously before gesturing to his companion, "and this is Orihime. We will be serving you throughout your stay."

Roxanne and Rye were dumbstruck, but a giddiness found a way of snaking up her body…until she looked back toward the doorway and saw the owner of the grand estate. Earl Aizen.

"She set us up," she whispered contemptuously.

Rye followed her gaze and looked equally perplexed, but felt torn. Dread swirled around his stomach, threatening to bite away at his insides, and he couldn't shake the feeling. No matter how calm he hoped to remain, he felt betrayed by Layla, for the first time in his life and it hurt.

"Damnit," he cursed.

Aizen didn't remain by the doorway, he took a step toward the stairway, gesturing to another person behind him—a woman, it seemed.

Rye saw her first and the emotion was undeniable.

Roxanne's heart nearly gave out at the sight of the woman following close behind the earl, dressed in the newest designs and looking as if she belonged to the noble circles that had once shunned her, Jaelle Harmon emerged.

Roxanne might have been a child when the incident happened, but there was no denying the woman standing at the earl's side was her mother. The resemblance was frightening. It was like looking into the future.

Her hands swept to her mouth as she gasped and tears sprung to her eyes. "No."

But Rye said it first, "Mom."

There was too much wrong here.

* * *

**beta'd by**: TheAwesomeRandom

**x L i l i m**:

Transition chapter. Sorry about the transition chapter. I felt it might've been a tad boring while writing it, but it's basically a transition to what's to come.

There are two more chapters left in the Lying Game and after that I plan to take a break to write up the final part of the story and hopefully do weekly updates until the story's conclusion. Word of warning, the last two parts of the Lying Game are packed tightly (and will hopefully be long!) and something like a big revelation (that usually causes readers to stop reading, but I'm going to ask everyone and anyone who is reading to just give it a shot! Don't stop until the Lying Game is over! Pinky promise, guys?).

Many thanks to **TheAwesomeRandom** who offered herself as a beta and has done a wonderful job giving me a much-needed motivational boost. :)

Thank you for reading! :)


	39. Lying Game 4

**Masquerade**

Chapter 39

-_**Lying Game 4**_-

_How did it feel?_  
_To feel life as it blossomed…_

**Autumn, 1881**

_"Lady Lisle!"_

Ringing laughter followed—a mocking sound—that reverberated throughout the scarce alleyways.

_"Viscountess Lisle!"_

A different voiced called out to her title and her heart gave another frightened thump within her ribcage.

_"Where have you gone, viscountess?"_

Breathing heavily, Layla clutched a parcel to her chest while crouched underneath the heavy cast of shadows between buildings deep within the desolate regions of Norwich. Heart pounding rapidly, body trembling, sleek package held until her knuckles blanched, and as the unknown area unfolded before her wide, bloodshot eyes.

Layla leaned back against the wall, unable to keep calm, trying to regulate her breathing and placed a hand to her chest. Everything happened quickly, faster than she had to formulate a proper thought or reaction. She remembered leaving Shinji's side as they ventured out of a curving street full of restaurants and tiny boutiques that lead straight to abandoned buildings and old factories. She left her bodyguard's side saying she was going to look for Starrk, who wandered off early on their walk outside the Duke of Norwich's land to the bustling city of Norwich. Starrk had been searching for something in the city, which he hadn't had the time to discuss with her between business affairs with his grandfather, the many interruptions of Lucie, the French housekeeper of Penthurst Hall, and her private conversations with Shinji Hirako, it seemed nearly impossible to share a private moment with her husband outside their bedroom.

As she took the curving road, father away from bustling street, she noticed her vision blur and her head spin, eyes darkened at the corners before she stumbled over her feet. She held herself up by the nearest wall and held her head, taking a few deep breaths to soothe her anxious heart. She rubbed her eyes and took a minute to compose herself before she notice a pair of men standing a few meters from the adjacent street. They were looking at her as if they had been trailing and waiting until there was nobody at her side available to protect her.

The pair took a firm step forward and she gasped, whirling around and running without thinking. The uniformed men pursued her, proving whatever fleeting thoughts she might have conjured mid-run. She ran through various murky, zigzagging alleyways that stunk of sewer water and other unknown atrocities including aged blood, sullying the hem of her new yellow dress. Her neatly wrapped package clenched to her chest as he sped through unfamiliar territory.

_What am I supposed to—?_

Steps came to a sudden halt at the farther end of the alleyway. Her eyes flickered to the man grinning ear to ear and beckoning the rest of his group. There were many, the two that found her were just wandering about to catch her alone.

Layla straightened out and started down the other end when a pair of smirking men appeared to block her path. Stopping abruptly, she dropped her parcel on the muddied ground and started walking backward, looking in front and behind her until there wasn't another step to take. With the alleyway flooded with her enemies, Wedgeworth's men, she stopped in the dead center unable to find her voice. She would scream if she were able, maybe by some fortunate miracle Shinji was around to hear it, but no words left her mouth.

"Nowhere to run, viscountess," one said mockingly.

"How careless for you to wander around on your own," another added snidely.

A smug laugh sounded. "You'd think she'd be smarted considering who her father is."

One snorted. "She prolly aint as lucky."

"As you can see," the first pointed out smartly.

The group erupted in laughter as Layla felt her body growing lighter and head spinning. She stumbled toward the wall, pressing her back hard against it, almost in resignation as she watched the situation unfold with uncalculating eyes and a dread threatening to swallow her whole.

A brusque-looking male moved closer to her, pulling a gun from inside his dark jacket. "We'll be sure to send your mangled body to your—"

A bang sounded from afar and the man dropped to the ground with a hole through his temple. The blood guzzled out of the wound and puddle underneath his head.

The others spun around alert, a chorus of skeptical inquiries erupted amongst her pursuers as they searched the premises for the threat.

Layla didn't know whether to be thankful or try running in the opposite direction, even if it meant putting her life in further danger.

A few stray shots rang throughout the alley and before she had a chance to take another breath, four more dropped to the ground dead, leaving a single man standing. The stranger had a gun in his hand and his eyes sweeping from side to side until a dark shadow jumped down from the rooftop and steps echoed from the other end of the alleyway.

Layla looked in both directions, relief washing over her as her vision cleared. Starrk was standing a few feet from her, hands wrist-deep into his pockets, eyeing her assailant, and at the end of the alley stood Shinji holding a gun, looking terribly annoyed.

The last of Wedgeworth's group pointed his gun at Starrk.

"Ya shouldn't 'f done that," warned Shinji disappointedly.

"Shut—"

He never managed to finish before Starrk elbowed him straight in the jaw and in a flash of silver, another gunshot banged noisily.

Shinji tucked away his gun and wiped his forehead. "I could've handled that myself, y'know."

Starrk turned around, reaching down to grab her by the hand and pulled her into an embrace. She was still trembling and trying her best to hold back her tears as she clung to him.

"Take her home," Starrk said gently, pulling Layla from him and turning her in Shinji's direction. "I'll clean the mess."

Shinji gestured for her. "Come on, Layla."

Layla looked to Starrk. "C-can you…?"

"Everything will be fine. Go with Hirako."

He pushed her toward her bodyguard gently, but she stood firm. "T-they were with Wedgeworth," she said shakily. "They wanted me—"

"They weren't Wedgeworth's men."

* * *

Layla remained silent throughout the trip back to Penthurst Hall and meekly smiled when greeted by Lucie at the front door. She made a quick trip up the nearest staircase and walked through hallway after hallway with the blond ex-chief following at a slower stride with a dark expression. She burst into her bedroom and immediately dismissed Clarise, her personal maid, who scampered across the spacious room and out the door, shutting them behind her.

"Rumors were right, he is a perfect shot," Shinji murmured, purposefully disinterested.

"Who?" she asked absentmindedly, ambling toward the nearest chair where she sunk down with her hand pressed to her chest. Her eyes quickly found Shinji plopping down into the seat across her.

"Your husband," he clarified.

"Oh?" she sounded surprised, but felt another wave of vertigo. "He is, yes."

Shinji nodded incredulously before noting the change in her expression. "Feeling all right?"

She swallowed hard as she held her head. "I'm just a bit dizzy," she admitted casually. "I think it's the heat."

"Want a doctor?"

"No, I need to rest a bit."

Shinji remained silent for a long while before his expression hardened and the annoyance returned to his face. "What the fuck do ya think yer doing?"

Layla breathed easy. "I'm just following the plan—"

"Ya can't have that husband of yers killing everyone that tries against ya," he scolded. "It calls attention to ya both when yer supposed ta be in hiding—not that yer doin' a good job to start, since they all know yer in Norwich. It aint a plan if it's a stupid one. Besides, how many men are gonna die before yer satisfied?"

"As many need to die," she answered straightly, holding her tingling head in her hands. "So, please leave me be."

Shinji abruptly stood and headed towards the door. He had his hand on the handle before he turned to face her. "Keep this up an' yer bound ta get us all killed."

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Layla remained seated, slightly slouched as she tried her best ignore the wooziness enough to get out of the armchair and remove her sullied dress. She wanted to bathe to clean the murk off her skin and probably relax in the cool water, but she felt she needed to lie down.

There was a quiet knock against her door and an equally gentle voice calling out to her. "May I come in, miss?"

"Yes, please," she beckoned.

Clarise reentered her lady's bedchamber and swept back strands of wiry brown hair behind her ears. The slender maidservant bowed appropriately. "Forgive the intrusion, miss," she eased quietly. "Mr. Hirako asked me to come up…"

The bashful girl trailed off unconsciously as green eyes moved from side to side.

"That was thoughtful of him," said Layla, pushing herself up slightly. "Could you please have a bath readied for me?"

Clarise's expression brightened as she curtsied and bowed her head. "Straight away, miss."

* * *

Solomon Yamamoto, Duke of Norwich, stood with his back turned to his sole grandson and heir to his dukedom. He was quite aged with thick white hair he usually combed back and a thick mustache, but could easily pass to be a year or two younger. He tapped his cane to the bottom of his desk as he continued reading passages of a lengthy business correspondence.

"I'll have Lucie send for Doctor Fuller," said Solomon solemnly. "Layla is a fragile woman, more so than I had expected."

Starrk sunk into the nearest seat and loosened a gray tie. He had discarded a sullied jacket upon entering and pulled his buttoned shirt from his pants to show the large blotches of dried blood staining the fabric.

"Do you think she's grown weaker?" asked Starrk curiously. "I feel she has."

"You have just finished answering your own inquiry." Solomon turned to lean into his desk, hands curved over the weathered oak. "I worry you aren't taking care of your wife as it is expected."

Starrk frowned disapprovingly.

"Do not grimace," scolded Solomon as he slapped the letter over his desk. "It never hurts to spend more time with your wife and make sure she eats properly, or perchance, take her to a walk around the grounds, enjoy conversation—live a bit."

"Is this advice?"

Solomon grunted, scrutinizing him. "Or would you rather spend every other evening in blood-stained clothes?"

Starrk looked down, pinching the dirty fabric between his thumb and index finger. "No."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Why are you lazing around there? Get upstairs, bathe, and take care of your wife," he ordered. "I'll send Doctor Fuller up as soon as he arrives."

Starrk pushed himself out of his seat and sighed, exhausted. He headed straight for the door, not forgetting to retrieve his jacket from where he tossed it.

"And stop using the Luisenbarn resources!"

He shrugged his shoulders and shut the door behind him carelessly.

Starrk made his way up the staircase, crossing paths with the prim-looking housekeeper, and stepped inside his room without a sound. He could see Layla lying on her side atop the bed, dressed in a simple white nightgown, sleeping. He dropped his jacket and tie over an empty table and unbuttoned his dress shirt. He dropped it on the ground as he reached his wife's bedside.

Beads of sweat had formed along her temples and her breathing seemed the slightest bit erratic. He understood his grandfather's request for the family doctor; she was clearly running a fever. He took a seat beside her and gently shook her by the shoulder.

Layla stirred from slumber, turning to see the blurred, but familiar form of her husband. Her eyebrows furrowed suddenly. "Did you just come home?"

He nodded wordlessly.

Running a hand through her matted hair, she sighed. "You can't keep doing this, Starrk."

"Does it worry you?"

"Of course, it worries me," she nearly snapped, but was clearly restraining her emotions. She could smell the blood off his skin and as the seconds ticked by while they sat in close proximity; she felt her stomach give a dreadful tug. Her hand shot up to her mouth as she swallowed hard, eyes widened in confusion.

"Are you still feeling dizzy?" he asked worriedly.

"A bit this afternoon," she answered truthfully, but quickly started on a different topic. Morning conversations always seemed to center around her questionable health and everyone within Penthurst Hall had their own set opinions over the matter, which was the cause of many heated discussions during brunch. "I've asked Clarise to call the dressmaker tomorrow afternoon."

"Why?"

She abashedly turned her face. "Your grandfather has been keeping me well-fed these past four months and I can't seem to fit in my dresses without asphyxiating myself with a tightly wound corset. But you wouldn't understand how painful it is to be a woman."

Layla couldn't ignore the stench of blood on his skin, it seemed to be burning her nostrils, but she made the effort.

"You needn't put any effort into looking proper in my presence; I would love you in your nightgown with disheveled hair just the same."

She gasped, patting her hair down and quickly reaching for the thin blanket to cover her chest. "I enjoy looking my best, so please, stop staring at me like that!"

He smiled, but turned away. "My grandfather sent for Doctor Fuller."

She jolted, surprised. "W-what?"

"He wants to make sure you are doing well," he replied quietly, glancing over his shoulder to her. "I'm worried as well. You've been fatigued for quite some time and it seems you have been growing weaker."

Layla dropped back down onto her bed, pulling her thin blanket over her shoulder. "Stop bothering Doctor Fuller on my account," she murmured, displeased. "I'll have to tell your grandfather the same."

"He won't listen."

"I'll make him listen," she stated heatedly, "because there is nothing wrong with me apart from a slight headache. Please let me rest."

He gently rubbed her shoulder and the weight of his body left the mattress a little emptier. "I'll send Victor after Lucie."

Silently, Layla heard his footsteps disappearing from earshot as he approached the doorway. Her stomach cramped painfully and she curled her legs to lessen the pain. She clenched her teeth as her husband opened the door noisily and swallowed hard as she waited for the throbbing pain to subside.

"I asked Clarise to run a bath for you."

Starrk paused, looking over his shoulder. "Sleep well."

* * *

Rovina Stephenson parted ways with the faceless gentleman that had taken her out to dance a lengthy waltz, while Elliot wasted away in the card room, losing his fortune to luckier players, and smiled unwaveringly at every scrutinizing woman inside the ballroom. She had few tolerable acquaintances among the individuals attending a special gala to honor Earl Montgomery's fortieth birthday. The first being her husband (who came as a priority, by marriage), Douglas Gray and his guest Robin Talbot (who so happened to be the same Claire she met at Vinnlake Hall), Earl Montgomery and his wife, Patricia (her eldest brother and sister-in-law, coincidentally), and any other members of Blair family.

She took a glass of Merlot from a passing butler and took a gulp, savoring the taste a few seconds before swallowing. Curious eyes scoured the incredible hall, high ceilings and glass chandeliers, to the merriment of the guests. She was almost thankful her parents hadn't been able to attend gala, else she'd be sitting at some corner of the hall like a wallflower listening to the low tenor of her mother's voice and the same, overdue speech on fertility and her failure as a woman. And in all honesty, Rovina could do without another of her mother's insensitive orations or mentions of Elliot, her estranged husband. It amazed her how everyone inside that room knew every dirty detail of her marriage as it continued spiraling out of control when she decidedly remained ignorant.

Not much changed in that aspect. Rovina and Elliot entered that ballroom looking radiant and perfect, expressing affection while pretending there never existed an infidelity in their marriage. They presented themselves perfectly and though other, more observant, guests were skeptical about the reality of their situation, nobody wanted to pass a rumor in the presence of Rovina's half of the family. The Blair family was known for its strong-tempered kin and everyone was especially protective of the Duchess of Cambridge, who at the time of her marriage was a girl of fifteen.

Harold Blair, Earl Montgomery, flitted past her field of vision, a blur of black and white with a flair of gold from the ridiculous necktie he wore for the occasion. Rovina nearly tipped forward as he swept by chasing after a toddle a quarter his size giggling madly, but her statuesque brother came to an abrupt stop after recognizing her emerald colored dress. The child went on wobbling through the ballroom until his wet-nurse caught him before he caused a disturbance.

"What a beautiful child he is," complimented Rovina as her brother appeared before her. "I am absolutely jealous."

"Now, now, Ro," he said abruptly, "no need to be jealous. You can simply take Rupert with you."

"Oh, Harry! Patty would have your head!" she cried with a bark of laughter.

"He is too much work for a man my age," he said, shaking his head disappointedly. He took a haggard breath for effect and wiped his brow of what little effort procured of his pores.

Regardless of his opinion, Harold didn't look a day after thirty, though, unlike many men of thirty, he was known to be a complete utter disappointment. As a young man, Harold, with his orangey red hair, strong chin, slim physique, and broad shoulders, attracted more attention than any other male of the Blair family. Women were naturally attracted to his good looks and affable personality, but he had gotten engaged far too early—eighteen, the first time—and not to any of those women. Since, he gained a reputation of constantly being engaged to a new woman—relationships that normally never lasted through to marriage—until Patricia Cullingham berated him for his fickleness. They were a natural match, but Harold was determined not to marry Patricia Cullingham, his childhood friend, until it happened during a summer in Scotland where the Blair and Cullingham families decided to vacation (Rovina excluded, as she was too busy following her mother's advice in fixing her troubled marriage).

Henceforth, the hearts of many women were broken and as they expected his fickleness to eventually lead him to them, he became known as a disappointment.

"Well, you will be happy to know that during my stay, I shall be alleviating you and Patricia's duty as parents," she stated evenly. "So, worry not, dear brother."

Harold smiled widely. "Can you truly afford to stay? Sarah and Kate will be ecstatic!"

Hearing the names of her nieces upset her somehow. Harold and Patricia had been married only half the years she had, yet they were parents to three children and she had none. Physically and mentally, she was prepared to experience that aspect of being a woman. She wanted to feel life as it blossomed in her belly and to hold her baby in her arms. It was time. She had waited long enough, she had gone through enough lectures, and survived many rumors, but Elliot refused to bed her no matter her attempts. Now, she wasn't sure she'd be able to tolerate a romp with her husband without gagging.

Rovina forced a smile. "I have missed my beloved nieces! And I feel I haven't had a chance to properly acquaint myself with little Rupert."

"Rupert will love you! You are heaven-sent, Ro!" Harold wrapped his arms about his sister heartily.

It had been three years since the last time she was able to spend time with her family. She had to argue with Elliot for three nights straight, but it was worth it. She needed her family more than anything. She swore to stay as far away from temptation as possible after an uncharacteristic mishap put her and Jūshirō Ukitake in awkward terms. Because of their vacationing incident, they had not met in a month and resorted to the occasional, but prim, correspondence. She always sought to place the blame on the wine they had been consuming while standing on the balcony of his home, and that her slight inebriation relaxed the tension between them enough to allow an unladylike situation.

She somehow wanted forget the lovely conversation, the clanking of wineglasses, the chime of distant bells, the moonlight casting deep shadows and the stretch of stars dotting the purple, unclouded sky. They were speaking nonsense and she had never laughed so loudly before. She had never felt so happy. It was a natural high. Pure enchantment.

A veil had fallen over their eyes. They had grown comfortable in each other's presence that she had forgotten the diamond band on her ring finger, and he let go of his morals for a split second. But she remembered it clearly, the feel of his fingers tangling with hers and the warmth of his palm. Everything about it, while being very wrong, felt perfectly right. It was nothing compared to the things Elliot did, Rovina only let Jūshirō take her hand in his.

It was only for a moment.

Upon realizing, both retracted their hands and turned away abashedly. Jūshirō's apology followed suit before he excused himself from the balcony to reenter his home and disappear into the large room.

Recalling the moment brought a blush to her face, but was happy to notice Patricia approaching them in her elegant blue gown and tightly bound blonde curls. Her solemn expression drew attention from Rovina's weak moment and Harold quickly reached for his wife's hand before asking the question Rovina dreaded most.

"Is something wrong, Patty?"

"It seems my aunt and uncle has passed," she uttered breathlessly.

Rovina gasped a little, holding her hand to her mouth. "Do you need to sit? I will gladly distract your guests if you need a moment."

"Oh, not at all, your grace," she said quickly. "They were my estranged relatives. I hardly knew them."

"The Stanton?" asked Harold curiously.

Patricia nodded grimly.

Rovina had heard little about the Stanton family. They were a family of lesser nobility and had been generally careful about their reputations, all viewed as prim and proper individuals without a single blemish on their standing, until the Stanton name was on everyone's tongue during the London Season five years ago.

Baron Lipton, George Stanton, was pulled into reputation-damaging scandal several years ago and disappeared shortly after with his family in tow: a wife, Lydia, and two children, Jasper and Gwyneth. Rumor had it, Jasper and Gwyneth Stanton came out of hiding and met the Duke of Burgundy by change, who was instantly enamored with the beautiful Gwyneth. These were recent events. Rovina heard it a mere moment ago from Emma and Rachel Cullingham, Patricia's youngest sisters, who were incredibly skilled in gathering information through even means of conversation and eavesdropping.

It truly was surprising to hear George and Lydia Stanton had passed.

Rovina inched closer to Earl Montgomery and his countess and snapped open her fan as she perked up to listen to the rush of whispers trailing behind Patricia. "How did they pass?"

Patricia's glassy blue orbs swept the hall as she slipped her arm over Rovina's and smiled sweetly at any passing guest before turning to her sister-in-law. "Mother said they were killed."

Rovina gasped and quickly whispered, "Killed?"

"With the new murders on the rise and the sudden disappearance of the Three Families, I wasn't too surprised to hear they were killed in similar fashion," remarked Patricia lowly, the dread present as day in her tone. "I was only shocked to find out a familiar had been victimized so horribly and poor Jasper and Gwyneth."

Patricia gently guided Rovina to a casual walk around the hall before they stepped out into the well-lit gardens with Harold following suit, offering both an ear.

"She is just twenty, I hear," murmured Harold darkly.

"Nineteen," corrected Rovina, "recently turned apparently."

"I wonder how Jasper will cope," said Patricia with a hand pressed against her cheek. "He is now Baron Lipton and has not yet finished his studies. It is too big a responsibility to bear after the death of family."

"Why not offer them support?" suggested Rovina.

"Oh, I couldn't!" she protested. "My mother broke ties with her sister years ago, it would be insensitive to her."

Rovina frowned. "It is insensitive to leave them without family when they are in dire need."

"Ro is right, darling," Harold said, placing a hand to his wife's shoulder. "It isn't right."

"But I only know them by name!" remarked Patricia, looking from Rovina to Harold with a defensive pout. "In fact, nobody has actually seen the Stanton siblings since they were children."

"But the Stanton siblings came to London to stay at Lipton House for the fall," Rovina countered assuredly, "so, people have seen them as of late. I suspect that's the reason why everyone is talking about them."

Harold nodded in agreement. "It would be proper to at least reach out to them…" he suggested gently, "with or without your mother's consent."

"A short correspondence will do," added Rovina.

The slight pressure from both parties forced Patricia to cave and with a heavy sigh, she said, "Fine! I will write to Jasper and Gwyneth Stanton on _our_ behalf." She was shooting her husband a displeased grimace, pout and all. Harold nodded without issue and Rovina smiled bright and victorious. "I will express our condolences and will apologize for my mother's behavior toward my aunt and will properly invite them to our home. Are you truly fine with this decision?"

"Very much, darling," said Harold, kissing Patricia's temple and stepping on ahead of them before whirling around to face them to continue their walk about the garden stepping backward. "And if I had not been fine with this decision, I suspect a certain redhead duchess would gladly snag them away to her private home."

Harold shot his sister a mischievous smile.

"My private manor is incredibly scarce this fall," she exaggerated with a large sigh. "There is never anyone around to talk to with Elliot away in Cambridge."

"Why not go with him?" said Patricia curiously.

"Absolutely not," stated Rovina, fanning herself. "I'd rather be bored in London than Cambridge! I don't know anyone in Cambridge save a Baron Millefort, and he isn't as fun as he used to be."

"Baron Millefort!" Harold barked out a laugh, holding his sides.

Patricia blinked in confusion. "Baron Millefort?" she said daintily. "I don't think I've had the honor of meeting this Baron Millefort."

"And you won't," uttered Harold between laughs, taking in his sister's nonchalance and his wife's confusion, both attributed to his hysterics.

"Why not?" cried Patricia, slapping his shoulder.

"Baron Millefort died five years ago," croaked Harold, moving away from his gasping wife.

"Oh duchess!"

Rovina cracked a smile. "Honestly, Patty, you should have known this."

"She rushed to the villa a tearful mess, crying Baron Millefort's name in the midst of hysteria," explained Harold, cutting back on his hysteria to a mere chuckle.

Rovina fanned her face as her lips molded into a worrisome frown. "I honestly thought I killed him."

"Oh, was this on the eve of your twenty-first birthday?"

"We were gambling so much I hadn't noticed my poor Baron Millefort drunk so much—" She took a forlorn breath, staring off to the stretch of oak trees whose leaves had turned a deep orange and red, "I was absolutely terrified."

Rovina gently patted Patricia's hand and smiled brightly, the sunlight caught in her hair made it look a bright orange. "But this story is best saved for later. We have more important things to do. For example, celebrate Harry's birth."

"Oh, you needn't make room for me in your conversation, Ro," Harry said sarcastically, "I am perfectly fine here in the shadow of this day's rumors. We can always have a drink nearing midnight and watch the ducks float in cold water."

"Harry, you read my mind!" stated Rovina sarcastically. "I've always been quite interested in duck watching!"

After a round about the gardens and skillfully feigning admiration of the autumn scenery, Rovina returned to Warren Hall to continue partaking in the festivities. She entered the ballroom just as nonchalantly as she had exited with both her relatives following suit and was greeted by the same persisting rumors. She swept the room once in search of Elliot, but as he remained out of sight, she figured he was still inside the card room.

"Your grace."

Rovina whirled around to see Douglas Gray with Robin Talbot at his arm looking every bit a vixen in a scarlet dress with tousled red locks pulled back into a pearl hairpin.

"Mr. Gray," she said with a broad smile, offering her hand to him. "I am so pleased to see you."

Douglas Gray raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon her knuckles, dark blue eyes flickering to stare into her face. "No, your grace, it is _my _pleasure running into you here."

She drew he hand back and turned to Robin Talbot with a charming smile. Robin curtsied with her head bowed low. "It is greet seeing you again, your grace."

"I agree," Rovina said, "though I am bothered that neither one of you have come to visit me in London."

"Forgive us, your grace, I had business with the Queen and I invited Miss Talbot along," he excused with a sour look, "but if your invitation remains extended, we will make sure to pay a visit."

Robin smiled excitedly. "I've always wanted to see the inside of your home, it looks so extravagant!"

Rovina patted her friend's shoulder. "You may come as many times as you wish. You are such pleasant company."

Robin quickly took a step toward the duchess and slinked her arm over hers. "Shall we take a walk, your grace? I have been looking forward to us meeting again."

Rovina nodded.

"Before you go, your grace," called Douglas, "might impose a question?"

"You may."

"Have you heard anything of the Three Families? They seem to have gone missing these past four months."

"Forgive me, Mr. Gray, but I am probably just as informed as you are," she replied graciously, knowing her boundaries within the Luisenbarn's jurisdiction. "There are far too many rumors to pick apart from and not much truth can be told through gossip."

Robin giggled reassuringly. "See, Mr. Gray, those wicked rumors about the Viscount Lisle marrying Layla Aizen are complete bogus."

"No, that rumor is true." Rovina unconsciously let the words slip from her mouth and watched as Robin's face blanched in shock. The duchess's eyebrows furrowed worriedly. "Is something wrong, Robin?"

Robin shook her head quickly, swallowing hard as she retracted her arm from the duchess. "Excuse me; I need to take some air. Forgive me."

Rovina had never seen a woman leave a room faster than Robin Talbot had that day and for a short instance, she swore to have seen the hurt etched in her expression. It was an emotion she was more than familiar with—heartbreak.

"I feel I might have been a tad insensitive."

Douglas Gray look pleasantly surprised as he inched closer to keep their conversation from eavesdroppers. "Have you not heard?"

"Robin is in love with the viscount," she said lowly, "is she not?"

"Deeply."

Rovina felt horrible and a need to pursue Robin to apologize properly for her thoughtlessness. She knew better than to play with matters of the heart.

"I should apologize," she said quickly.

Douglas placed a hand on her arm, stopping her from even taking a step after the fleeting woman. "It would be best to let her cry out her pain in peace before addressing your mistake."

Regardless of instinct asking her to go, Rovina kept Douglas Gray company and bore with whatever Family-related questions he had remaining. But he had a tendency of answering his own inquiries without aid. He had theories to discuss with the duchess about the reason for the Three Families' disappearance. He figured Layla and Starrk's elopement was the harbinger of chaos into their privileged world, but as he continued spouting his theories, she stopped listening.

* * *

Rye stared out the tall glass windows absentmindedly, standing in his very own, well-furnished bedroom and dressed in the clothes that cost more than they should. He had admired the scenery beyond those windows for an entire month, watching a strange woman walking along the garden picking flowers with which she decorated his room every morning while he slept. Occasionally, she would lift her gaze, green eyes the same shade as his glittering like stars as her red hair was highlighted by a strong sun and wave with a large smile.

Jaelle Harmon.

It was the name of the woman who abandoned her three children to their luck. His mother.

Somehow, he couldn't accept it like Roxanne had. He didn't care whom she was, whether or not she gave birth to them, or the reason why she ran off with her tail between her legs. Obviously, Jaelle suffered enough after the tragic death of her husband and his father, Vandlo. Still, what right did she have leaving three children behind without a soul to depend on?

Tsura, Rangiku and Hisana's grandmother, gave them shelter and offered them as much love as she could spare, but she was bitter. Tsura raised and loved Jaelle as her own child after he parents had passed, she did everything possible to keep her from committing irreparable mistakes, but in the end, she was disappointed. Jaelle involved herself with a man outside their culture and bore him a child. She married a gypsy man and gave Tsura false hope, while still seeking out Aizen for reasons unknown to them all, and somewhere between that timeframe, Vandlo was killed by Aizen. Jaelle was shunned by her own tribe and instead of facing the consequences to her mistakes, she ran away.

Jaelle didn't exist in his childhood. He vaguely remembered her face until he saw her standing beside Earl Aizen, looking as though she belonged there. He and Roxanne took after her. The changes were difficult to accept, but it was harder trying to allow a stranger to walk into his life that wanted to be called his mother.

But he wasn't being irritable about the situation. He told Jaelle that she would honestly have to try her best to win his affections and not expect them to magically appear like Roxanne's had. Jaelle accepted his conditions and since then, they were mending a severed relationship.

The days were filled with moments together with Jaelle and quite busy. Earl Aizen left the mansion two months ago after courteously inviting them into his home and completing a portion of Layla's request (as his heir, she seemed to have that power over him, though she probably didn't deserve it after eloping). He was leaving to tend to confidential business in Oxford, but left prepared schedules for him and Jaelle.

So, while Roxanne was taking lessons on how to act like a lady from a stringent old crone, Rye was neck deep in work provided by the three educators hired to teach him. Each instructor taught him three-to-four subject each from language to history, geography and literature and economics. His free time was scarce, but his temporary and personal servant, William, kept things lively with questionable anecdotes and a fair share of jokes.

As suspicious as their stay had been when they first arrived, Earl Aizen had been nothing but kind to them. And after Layla's father explained the choice in venue upon their arrival, Rye no longer felt betrayed by Layla.

_"Layla is sensibly rebuilding a broken foundation and no matter the number of refusals, she clung to the idea. She wanted you both out of danger as a set condition to becoming my heir and seeing as I had no choice, I accepted you into our beneficiary. I will care and provide for you."_

Rye caught sight of Jaelle and Roxanna walking along an earthen path inside the abundant garden with linked arms.

Jaelle looked up and smiled gently.

Somehow, he couldn't believe her.

* * *

Roxanne flopped over her bed, taking deep, pained breaths.

"How do women put up with these corsets and bustles?" she complained aloud, kicking off her shoes. "And those heels are the devil!"

Jaelle laughed quietly as she strode across the bedroom and stopped beside one of the bedposts, slinking her arms about it she peered behind the half-closed curtains at her exhausted daughter. "Beauty is pain, love."

"It shouldn't be this much pain!"

"You will grow accustomed to it with time, just ignore the pain and focus on Miss Hamby's lessons."

Miss Hamby was the old governess Layla's father overpaid to instill grace and propriety into Roxanne. And as if, Miss Hamby had not been enough, Miss Collins appeared to teach her the beauty of an instrument—the flute—and taking lessons in dance. Roxanne was learning to play the flute and being taught to dance the "proper" way. It annoyed her to have to listen to Miss Collins' grating tone for a little over two hours every day, _but _everything she gained from the experience made it worthwhile.

Roxanne had a closet full of beautifully tailored dresses made by the best dressmakers in England and outside it. She had boxes of stylish shoes for every occasion. She was given an incredible bedroom with crème walls and gold tapestry that came with an adjacent boudoir and own bathroom. She had everything she had ever wanted in life without having to sleep with someone to get it. The feeling was incredible.

"I can focus on Miss Hamby, but Miss Collins is the problem," Roxanne said smartly. "I can't stand that old spinster!"

"Miss Collins is a renowned instructor. You should appreciate her taking time off her schedule to heed the earl's call."

Roxanne rolled her shoulders and relaxed into her comfortable mattress. She hadn't slept well since the Duke of Cambridge let her stay the night in his home. That was until his crazed wife appeared to shout up a storm.

She sighed deeply.

Jaelle noticed her daughter's forlorn expression. "Is someone on your mind?"

"Yes."

Jaelle moved around the bed and found a seat beside Roxanne. She smiled gently. "Are you in love with this person?"

Roxanne snorted. "No. Absolutely not. He's a rake, mum."

"Well, I'm quite glad you're not in love with a squanderer."

Elliot Stephenson was quite the lover if one ignored his immoral games and horrible attitude. He was skilled and never sloppy. His body was firm and strong like a man should be. He was beautiful with a lackluster personality, but it was nothing his assertiveness as a lover didn't overshadow. Their sexual relationship never quite ended and for a few short moments, she wondered if she would have the chance to meet with him for that purpose later.

"He isn't the type of man a woman should love," Roxanne explained softly. "He is incapable of reciprocating."

"Ah…"

Jaelle was increasingly silent.

Roxanne misunderstood the reason for the sudden stillness between them. "Don't worry mum, Rye will come around. He'll love you."

The redhead smiled weakly. "Yes, I trust he will."

A pregnant paused stretched between them as Roxanne's mind started wandering.

"Mum?"

"Yes, love?"

"Why are you here?"

Jaelle stared upward, leaning back into her hands. "I still don't know the answer to that question, love."

"…But he hurt you," Roxanne pressed lightly. "He made your life a living hell. He killed my father."

"…I understand, Roxanne," Jaelle started solemnly, "but I have yet to truly understand my reason for staying so close to that awful man."

Roxanne's eyebrows furrowed and she struggled with the next set of words, not in speaking them, but of the dread it caused at the pit of her stomach.

"…Do you love him?"

"No," came a swift, resolute response.

* * *

Doctor Fuller stared at the feverish and pale Viscountess Lisle in complete, professional scrutiny. With every slight move of his stethoscope along her exposed torso, Layla took a deep breath.

Layla had been against the idea of calling the doctor, repeatedly stating she would be fine and that her fever would pass without issue. _"…None of you will remember it tomorrow morning," _she had told Starrk, Shinji, and Solomon once they gathered around her bed to complain about her deteriorating health.

She showed every sign of weakness available to her within the hour. She nearly fainted in the hallway as Solomon passed and had to be carried back into her bed by Shinji since Starrk was still scrubbing the dry blood off his skin. Her temperature increased while in Shinji's presence and he made a big deal out of it. Then, once her husband returned to her side and everyone else was gone, she decided to try to sweat out her fever by seducing Starrk.

Starrk allowed her to initiate sex. She straddled him with her nightgown bunched around her thighs and kissed him firmly, but the moment didn't last. Just as quickly as she mounted him, she scrambled off and wobbled into the adjacent room where he heard her regurgitate into a bucket. He rubbed her back after pulling her hair out of her face and tried soothing her as she cried into the hollow bucket.

"It wasn't you," she cried, blinking away fresh tears. "I love you, but I just felt nauseous."

"You might have the flu."

Starrk was more surprised to see there were actual tears in her eyes as she was never so emotional. In fact, whenever she was ill, she tended to be sensitive to everything and frighteningly irritable. So, he called his valet to fetch Lucie, who ran into Shinji after telling his grandfather all about the evening's troubles, who rushed out to wake Doctor Fuller for a late night visit.

After a few moments, the middle-aged man drew back his stethoscope and pulled the plugs from his ears.

"You have the flu," he said carefully, tucking away his stethoscope. "Drink plenty of liquids and rest."

Layla slid her arms back into her nightgown and pulled it over her shoulders. "Am I getting medicine?"

Doctor Fuller shot her a funny look as he straightened out with his black bag. "It's best to stay away from strong medicines in your condition."

Her mouth dried and her heart stilled. "Please, Doctor Fuller…I c-can't…"

"Have you, perhaps, not told your husband of your condition?"

At that instant, the door clicked open and Starrk reentered the room with a furrowed brown. "What condition?"

Suddenly, she had an incredibly difficult urge to cry and somehow hoped her tears would provide the right amount of distraction to pull her from everyone's line of vision.

Doctor Fuller sighed deeply, torn between continuing his professional duty or relinquishing it for a woman that looked unquestionably devastated.

"Forgive me viscountess," he said bowing his head and turned to Starrk with a firm expression. "She is with child."

* * *

**beta'd by**: TheAwesomeRandom

**_Thanks to_**_: Starfire8001, rainy-lullaby, and ookawa for reviewing the previous chapter._

**x L i l i m**:

Remember guys, I do everything for a reason, and prepare for that in the next chapter, which will hopefully be up next Saturday!

Now, help me out guys!

As the remainder of the story is supposed to follow Rovina and Starrk's point of view, I wanted to end Masquerade and start a short, transitional story to connect this story to the (already planned) sequel. I felt it might be odd because this story is predominately told in Layla's point of view and there's a one-year time skip after Ch. 40. So, there are so many changes going on that many readers may feel weirded out by the abrupt switch!

I'd like to hear what you think! You can drop a review to tell me what you think and for silent readers (see, I always think of you guys), I prepared a poll. (If the poll isn't up yet, give it a few minutes to come up, you know they take a while to show on a profile!) Please vote, too.

(If the transitional spin off does come to grace my page, it'll be called Camellia and will span for 10 action-mystery-romance packed chapters where shit gets real. Rovina needs some love too! I'm also going to try to write this as darkly as humanly possible because some characters go through changes...damn. Especially Starrk, but you'll see it connecting well to his canon personality-I purposefully strayed a bit-but with a darker edge!)

I am also taking a break after Ch. 40 or 41 (depending on votes).

Thank you for reading!


	40. Lying Game 5

**Masquerade**

Chapter 40

-_**Lying Game 5**_-

_Tragedy._

_It happens every day_

_In some shape or form,_

_Each time distinctive,_

_Sometimes more severe,_

_But it hurts just the same._

…_In different levels of ache,_

_The heart breaks._

"Pay up, boy," said Solomon fulsomely, jabbing the lanky blond with his elbow.

Around two months ago, Solomon noticed a few peculiarities with Layla's weakening health because her symptoms resembled those of a woman expecting. Shinji Hirako so happened to be around when the older gentleman made the claim, which the blond felt was doubtful, and thus, a bet started.

With Doctor Fuller's confirmation, the Duke of Norwich emerged the victor, though it truly was a shocking revelation.

Shinji grumbled as he searched his pants' pockets for his money. "How was I supposed ta know she was pregnant, ya ol' geezer?" He pulled out a fair amount and tossed it to the Duke of Norwich before reaching into his jacket to provide the rest. "Count it, 's there."

"Oh, I trust you haven't failed me, Hirako."

Layla appeared at the doorway of her bedroom just in time to see the transaction and overhear enough conversation to get her blood boiling. "I can't believe you two!" she stammered, reaching for one door and then the other in the wake of her fury. "Fools!"

_Slam!_

Shinji cringed, uncomfortably stuffing his hands into his pockets. "She's gonna gimme an earful come morning."

Solomon chuckled amusedly, turning on his heel and heading back toward his bedroom to continue resting. "Feisty women are always the loveliest of gems; my grandson is one lucky bastard."

Shinji barked out a laugh, following the older man down the same hallway, continuing the conversation from there.

Meanwhile, it seemed Starrk wasn't sure how to handle the news, as he remained standing in the middle of the room, burning holes into the Turkish rug underneath his feet. Layla stepped around him after slamming the doors shut and returned to bed, fulminating, not bothering to offer a proper explanation. She merely rolled onto her side, facing away from him, and shut her eyes still suffering from slight vertigo.

"Did you plan to ever tell me I was going to be a father?" Starrk finally asked with a hint of displeasure in his tone.

Frustrated, Layla huffed and in her most nonchalant tone, replied, "It must have slipped my mind. It was an honest, unintentional mistake and now you know, so there is no need for this discussion."

"So no," he decided, starting to pace and avoid paying heed to any exasperation building at the pit of his stomach.

Starrk plopped down on his side of the bed after growing tired of walking and contemplating useless questions. His back was facing her as he bent forward to put his head in his hands.

Watching him deal with the issue silently helped her fury dissipate. She couldn't let him feel horrible about her decision to keep a secret she had so selfishly desired. Not to her benefit, no, there was more emotion present—enough to keep her silent. She didn't want to bring happiness of that degree to their temporary household.

"…I am terrified, Starrk," she admitted shakily, hands fisting over the flimsy fabric of her nightgown. "…I simply c-couldn't…I couldn't say a word."

He raised his head slightly. "How long?"

She had to give it some thought. "Fourteen weeks, I believe."

"…And you have both been healthy?"

"Yes. We have."

He dropped onto the bed after taking a breath, draping an arm over his face. "Don't do this to me again, Layla."

A wave of fury struck as Layla kicked off the heavy blanket and bolted to a seat with a pillow at hand. She slammed it over Starrk's half-hidden face, forcing him into a seat. He raised his hands defensively, watching her cautiously before she tossed the pillow at him and he barely managed to bat it away.

"Do what to you, ignoramus!" she demanded.

"That hurts," he complained lowly.

She jabbed her finger to her chest. "I'm the one with the baby," she said, taking another pillow from behind her back and holding it threateningly. "And a pillow to your face is probably a pinch compared to childbirth."

"I should be the angry one," he said calmly. "You're the one that _forgot _to tell me this."

"I would have told you eventually!"

"On the day of the child's birth?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"_Please!_ I'm not that insensitive!" she snorted, folding her arms over her chest. "I might have waited a month or two, sent you a secret post."

"I see you had this planned out."

"It's a hell of a lot better than sitting around dreading the remainder of the pregnancy."

Starrk blinked.

"What?"

He leaned into one of the bedposts, taking the pillow she tossed in his direction and set it behind his back, with an amused smile playing on his lips. "Quite early, is it not?"

She stared at him oddly. "For what?"

"A child."

"I'm turning twenty-three next month, it's not too early," she snapped. "Or what? Did you expect to be thirty before you became a father?"

"I am a bit shocked," he admitted. "This changes everything. We will have to leave Norwich faster than anticipated to ensure your safety in particular."

Layla eased back into the array of plush pillows and rested her hands over her belly. "But what options do we have?" she whispered hesitantly, welcoming a pleasant calm.

"We've spent our resources here," he said intuitively. "If we continue doing so, eventually someone will catch up to us and Wedgeworth has already gotten close enough."

"But you said that this time around they weren't with Wedgeworth."

"I shouldn't be talking to you about this," he concluded firmly. "At this point and time, you're still in a weak state and getting upset over nonsense isn't going to help alleviate you."

"This isn't nonsense," she stated firmly. "We could die if we don't take any of these things seriously. You know our families are in chaos thanks to our elopement and it seems a band of killers are on the loose blaming them for a new wave of murders. Luckily for us, we are the perfect detached targets."

"Layla, you're exhausted and feverish, please rest," he urged, avoiding the topic as a whole. He had newfound determination to keep his wife safe and healthy because she was the only one that needed protection. That child needed it too. "Leave everything else to me."

"I can't let you bear the burden of our decision alone."

"You are no longer in a position to do that, Layla. You are going to be a mother, so it's best to stay as far from danger as possible, even if it means leaving everything to me."

"I—"

"I have done far worse, Layla, this is nowhere near my level," he said insouciantly. "Besides, Shinji Hirako is a reliable guard, so you should have nothing to worry about."

"You can't ask me to feel a certain way and expect me to do it." She had to rest her head against the pillows, unable to hold it up much longer with the weight of her exhaustion and sickness. "I never listen to a thing you say."

Starrk chuckled, crawling over the bed to sit at her side. He reached over, slipped his arm behind her back to wind it about her shoulders, and pulled her close. "But it's what I like about you."

Layla groaned in discomfort, weakly pulling away from his grasp. "Starrk," she mumbled, "you'll catch my flu."

He took her gently but firmly by the shoulders and brought her back into place. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "I haven't been sick in years, you know," he whispered, so wisps of warm breath caressed her skin. "I wouldn't mind it—lying in bed, being waited on, and sleeping for hours, nothing to worry about. Besides, we would be spending more time together."

"We spend enough time together," she groaned, trying to find a comfortable position against him. "We sleep together every night, Starrk."

"…Sometimes more," he said jokingly, kissing the curve of her neck.

"Mmm, yes, 'sometimes more' is great."

Starrk turned. "You are too weak for any tonight." Then, a slight realization formed into his mind. "Do we need to arrange for another room?"

"Absolutely not," she said weakly. "I doubt we'd have to resort to that."

"Perfect." He kissed her cheek. "You are quite warm these days. Especially tonight."

"It's the fever," she mumbled, fighting drowsiness as she curled her hands over his arms.

"You're slurring, Layla."

Her eyes fluttered open, an array of blurred images welcomed her and a heaviness she couldn't shake. With every blink, her eyes cleared and she could see the fire crackling inside the fireplace across the room. The fire cast long shadows along the maroon-colored walls and the set of couches sitting before it. And when she closed her eyes, behind the darkness calling her name, a clear image appeared—a fabrication of the mind, a hopeful longing—of a family…their family.

Layla let her arms slide over the slight bump in her stomach and opened her eyes to catch the glint of her garnet ring. "It's a girl."

"Hmm?"

"The baby," she said, looking over her shoulder drowsily, "it's a girl."

"We won't know until it's born."

"But I know it's a girl, so it's a girl."

He chuckled. "You need to go to sleep now."

"…I'm so sorry."

Layla didn't last another minute awake after apologizing. Her voice was soft and littered in sadness. It made it harder to let go.

He looked down, noticing her hands resting on her belly, and he reached down to feel the bump himself. He never actually realized it before, not until his grandfather pointed it out, but he hadn't been spending enough time with her since they arrived. He was too busy making plans to ensure a safe future that they were only really together for lunch and to sleep. They went on the occasional walk and a fair share of conversations and arguments since.

It was a tiny bump, but there was a child there—their child.

* * *

Rovina unpinned her hair and let it fall in shallow red waves that brushed the curve of her back. Her face was heavily shadowed as she sat with her back to the fireplace and her eyes fixed on Elliot's restless expression. The silence between them was incredibly tense and annoyingly suffocating. He made his aversion clear the second she _stated_ she planned to stay in her brother's home that weekend to properly celebrate his birthday, but once the Earl Montgomery's guests left, Elliot insisted they left immediately.

"If it is so painful to stay, I can always arrange a carriage to return you to Cambridge. I am sure there are things vast more interesting there for you to do." Rovina unclipped the pearls from her neck and set them inside an open jewelry box, earning a classless glare from her husband. "I can lie to my brother. I am frighteningly good at proffering excuses for your absence and the world knows the Duke of Cambridge is a busy man. Nobody would mind seeing you off in the middle of morning because something came up."

"I am your husband, Rovina," he warned in dangerously low in tenor, "watch your tongue."

"…And I am your wife, Elliot," she started unfalteringly, looking at him fiercely, "learn to respect me."

Rovina pardoned many of his mistakes growing up, but most were forgiven in her adulthood. Love blinded her. Love is what made her heart ache in his presence and when he was never around…it made her feel an insatiable longing. Not even the liveliest of parties or the funniest of individuals could make her forget that sweet misery, and years after, as idiotic as she felt, the longing and need to be loved by him and only him remained etched into her being. It was an impossible love to neglect. But catching him in bed with that gypsy whore was too big a mistake to pardon. It was one thing to be unfaithful, she dealt with it and understood she would never be able to excite him, but another was to bring a woman to their marital bed and tarnish what sweetened emotion lay there.

She was tired of accepting his faults, knowing nothing would come out of faith.

Elliot bolted out of his seat. "You will not speak to me that way again," he seethed; power pulsing through his tone, "understood?"

"I do not want you in my presence if you are—"

"Ask for another bedroom," he said, voice rising as he moved across the room to where she sat. "Take your _things_ and get out of my sight."

Rovina stood, facing him directly. "This is my brother's home," she said evenly. "So don't you dare speak to me in that tone."

"You are my wife—"

"—by marriage!" she interjected, infuriated. "Because some stupid paper says we are husband and wife, but emotionally and physically, we are strangers! You have not once loved me!"

Words slipped like water in the midst of her fury. She was ready to shout his wrongdoings and how ugly they made her feel.

"Love!" he barked. "You don't know love!"

Rovina growled, whirling around as she took a few steps away from him and turned. "I know love," she stated strongly, struggling to keep her voice toneless. Sadness was a difficult emotion to store away. "I have been so helplessly in love with you for seventeen years, Elliot. Seventeen." With every word spoken, her voice shattered and tears sprang into her eyes. "You…you cannot name a single day when you had once, truly and so helplessly loved me."

Elliot suddenly snapped.

"I have never loved you!" he cried, so loud she swore the residents of Earl Montgomery's home heard. "When will you understand our marriage was prearranged? We were a convenient match! But damnit, Rovina, you cannot even serve your purpose as a wife."

It was painful—a sharp knife to her heart and pride.

"…I've been waiting years and not even one child! I need an heir, Rovina!" he yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "We are not growing younger!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her hands fisted over her nightgown.

It hurt much more than a twisted ankle or broken arm. It was a throbbing beyond her heart's comprehension and it was almost too precarious to burden. She could handle the infidelities and all his faults and would willingly uphold a fake image to fool the masses, but she wasn't ready to hear the truth.

No, she wasn't ready to believe it. Her heart couldn't handle the pain.

"…You can't even touch me, Elliot," she said tearfully, trying hard to ignore those poisonous words that marked her. "How can you expect me to give you an heir?"

"…Is that it…?" he said slowly, in a tone unknown to her. It was something dark and dangerous.

Elliot suddenly reached for his necktie, tugging it from his neck roughly and discarding it.

"W-what are y-you…?"

Rovina's eyes widened, horrified. Her heart throbbed achingly in her ribcage, beating savagely, as she watched her estranged husband unbutton his dress shirt and quickly discard it.

"Stop," she said, moving backward until her back hit the edge of a table. She already expected the worst to occur, but couldn't fathom the mere thought. She heard stories of this sort of thing occurring, but to her, it sounded impossible. Yet, there it was…the moment unfolding like a neatly folded paper flower. "I don't—"

He seized her by the wrists, pulling her hard to face him. His eyes were smoldering and full of inscrutable emotion. She wanted to kick and scream, but couldn't mobilize her body enough to do anything apart struggling against his hold.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he spat, grip tightening.

"Please…" she whispered, voice trembling as tears dripped from her chin, "…not like this."

His hand snaked behind her head, grabbing a handful of hair before pulling hard. "You are my wife."

"No!" Slamming her back hard against the nearest wall, Rovina felt her body numb from the amount of pain and tears flood her vision as her voice crumbled into a heap of incoherent sobbing and begging. "_Please!_"

His touch, which had once set her heart aflutter, disgusted her.

"Elliot! Stop!"

* * *

_"Wake up damnit!"_

Layla was startled awake by the sound of Shinji's hushed voice, and a rough shaking beside her. She peered from behind her shoulder to the blond by the bedside, violently shaking Starrk whose arm was tightly wound around her body.

"Shinji?"

"Go to sleep, Layla," he ordered hastily.

"Why are you here?" she asked, rubbing her eyes until they focused within the opacity of the candle on the nightstand. At that same instant, she heard something crash and a rush of steps downstairs like an entire army was marching in. She bolted to a seat, accidentally slapping Starrk with the back of her hand. "What is happening?"

Starrk groaned, rubbing the pain away. _"Oww."_

"Relax Layla," started Shinji, gesturing with his hands. "You got nothin' ta worry 'bout."

Starrk turned back, staring at Shinji oddly. "What are you doing here?"

Shinji merely pushed a pair of guns into the viscount's hands and headed for the doorway. "I'll explain outside."

It took a collected silence between the trio to listen to the havoc being wrecked throughout the first level of Penthurst Hall and the bang of guns firing as screams ricocheted past corridors. The horrified pleas for help reached their ears.

Starrk jumped out of bed and grabbed the nearest pair of clothes available. He changed quickly while Shinji stepped out to scour their surroundings, venturing further into the hallway to determine the distance between themselves and their uninvited guests.

Layla blinked, pulling the blankets further up her face to feel a wave of exhaustion hanging low in the atmosphere, and felt her husband's hand behind her head and his lips at her temple. She turned to him worriedly. "Starrk."

He smiled gently as he tucked one gun behind his back. "Stay here. It will only take a moment."

Starrk strode out their bedroom door, leaving it ajar. He walked into the hallway, checking the gun for bullets before he stopped behind Shinji. "Go to Layla's bedroom and stand guard," he ordered quietly, venturing ahead of him. "I am assuming my grandfather is safe."

"Got 'im covered."

Shinji whirled around and rushed back into the bedroom, shutting the doors quietly to find Layla stumbling out of bed.

"What the hell d'ya think yer doing?" he cried irately.

"Someone invaded the house?" she asked calmly, reaching for a nearby coat to drape over her cold shoulders.

"Not yer problem!" he countered.

"That is my husband you allowed down there, coward!"

"He doesn't let me work for 'im, damnit!"

"He can't order you around! You're my bodyguard!"

"But ya can't put a bullet between my eyebrows from a mile away, can ya?"

Layla scoffed outrageously. "You're _my _bodyguard and you listen and obey only me, understood?"

"Can ya kill me a mile away?"

"No, but I can beat you half to death right now!"

He lifted his hands, palm up, and folded one in a crude gesture. "Go on, do it."

Furious, Layla stomped straight at him with her right hand bound into a fist and punched him square in the face. He hadn't planned on moving; let her have the first hit as any gentleman would do. No dillydallying and all jokes aside.

Shinji teetered backward, feeling a slight crack before blood spluttered from his nostrils and in blotches inside his cupped hand. A wave of anger filled him as his eyes flickered toward the auburn-haired woman before him. "My fucking god! Layla!" he cried, pained. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She jabbed her finger toward the door, eyes narrowed. "Go help my husband. _Now_."

"I swear, if he fucking kills me, I'll come back as ghost and haunt ya," he warned, stuffing a handkerchief under his bleeding nose.

"Now means now!"

"I got it!"

The blond ex-chief made a quick exit as Layla sunk into the nearest armchair, holding her throbbing hand against her chest. She lifted her gaze upward to the glittering chandelier above her head, and breathed deeply. "Please God…"

* * *

Robin Talbot took a deep, shuddering breath as her glassy eyes scoured the never-ending darkness beyond the tall glass windows of Earl Montgomery's mansion. With her heart and mind in shambles, the redhead had not spoken another word to Douglas Gray even after the evening concluded or to the Duchess of Cambridge, who kindly extended an invitation for them to stay the weekend to continue her brother's celebration. The remaining guests (mostly family and few intimate acquaintances, much like Douglas Gray and Harold Blair, the earl himself, who went to university together) were promised fireworks from the countess and her annoying trio of children. She heartily anticipated the slur of activity, believing the ambience would surely alleviate her heartache. She might find someone spectacular to converse with or play a few games for mere amusement (enough to forget what the duchess had said).

Tucking away emotion had always been simple, so she struggled understanding why her affections for the viscount made much difference. She could have any man with ease. There were men lining up to have a taste of the famous Robin Talbot. They fawned over her, worshiped her like a queen, and made her filthy occupation worth gold. Emotion had never been worth the trouble, yet she experienced every bit of it in his presence—the soft flutter of love, the gentleness of touch, the joy of simple conversation, the rawness of attachment, the gut-wrenching jealousy, the longing, and the shattering ache of heartbreak. It was turning her ugly, more so now than ever before.

The viscount married that fragile woman Layla. She was too physically weak, too pitifully kind, too proud, and too intelligent to serve any man as their dutiful wife. She was so pale and thin, she looked as though she might shatter upon contact. But Robin knew better than to believe those words. Layla was vicious, too. She was temperamental.

_So, why…?_

Robin was always at the center of gatherings, playful and full of smiles. She was enchanting in all her flaws. The viscount had said it once before as they sat in a moonlit bedroom. He had spoken many kind, meaningful words to her, so she was sure it was never a misunderstanding. There was definitely something between them and it was beautiful.

Why would he choose Layla instead?

_"…because I love her."_

How cruel fate was! Layla is not deserving of his love!

But…what made her worth it?

Robin struggled to keep her eyes dry when the door slowly opened and closed. She whirled around, flicking the few tears from her eyes to see Douglas Gray venturing across her bedroom with an open letter in his hand.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing at the neat scrawl upon the letter.

"It seems the runaways have been found."

She felt a surge of excitement, but tried to conceal it behind a dark grimace. "Where have they been?"

Douglas took a comfortable seat on the cushioned bench at the foot of her bed, draping one arm over the back and staring at her with a glint in his eyes. "Norwich."

"Norwich?" she said incredulously.

"It seems the viscount got in touch with an old relative and they were temporarily staying there until they gathered enough resources to depart."

"Depart where?"

"To the viscount's homeland, of course," answered Douglas excitedly.

"Spain," she announced aloud with a slight gasp.

"It is likely that if they were to even set one foot into Spain, we may never find them again."

The idea was hard to stomach and the outrage quickly spread through her veins.

"How will the Fourth Family deal with this? They are your only chance of bringing them down!" she stated outrageously.

Douglas' smile failed to falter. "But dearest, we have our plan."

"Well, what is it?" she demanded impatiently.

"Our men have invaded Penthurst Hall, where the viscount and viscountess are taking shelter, and they may not be the most experience, but it will shake them," he started calculatingly. "The viscount worries dearly of his wife, she is everything to him, and it is very likely he will push his plans to relocate themselves to Spain with this sudden invasion." He paused briefly. "All routes out of England are being monitored on a daily basis, there are men everywhere awaiting their arrival, and every road out of Penthurst has been cut off. They have no safe exit."

"So, they will be captured if they attempt to run?"

"…And separated, of course," he continued in mock tone. "We must make an example of one before an audience and we have many eager customers."

"Who do you plan to kill?" she asked worrisomely.

Douglas barked out a laugh. "Worry not, Miss Talbot, your viscount will be safe. He is much more valuable than his wife."

She nearly sighed, relieved, but her lips curved into a sinister smile instead. "I look forward to that pitiful woman's death."

"I'll surely give you a front row seat."

* * *

Disregarding the little voice shouting reason at the back of her mind, Layla took slow and steady steps down a rickety staircase within Penthurst Hall. Far too much time had passed and neither Starrk nor Shinji appeared in her bedroom to ensure their safety as things downstairs sounded to have taken a violent turn.

Reaching level ground, she followed a path of destruction—broken vases, trails of blood, tilted paintings, and disturbed ambiances—and the booming gunshots. Fearlessly, Layla padded down the nearest hallway, eyes to the ground to guide her over the broken vase shards. She leveled her breathing and kept the noise to a minimum, but even a horse could gallop through the hallways unnoticed with the rising amount of firing.

The stench of blood and death lingered heavily in the air as she ventured closer to where she figured everything was taking place, seeing as she carefully stepped over two bodies lying in the larger rooms.

The different smells were making her nauseous, but her heart felt unsettled.

Solomon had stepped into her bedroom while she sat in bed waiting and the old man had a number of things to say about their predicament. _"My grandson is quite careless. I hope he doesn't walk straight into a stray bullet," _he said calmly, stretching his hands towards the fire to warm them. _"And that Hirako, what a clumsy shot he is. I doubt he'll manage to get any work done. He might be the first one taken out."_

And she countered with, _"Have you no faith in their ability?"_

_"Well, Starrk might be lucky enough to survive. That is, if that stray bullet didn't hit him in the head, but I worry for Hirako the most."_

Layla, then, took it upon herself to rescue both if need be, though she wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

A glint of gold caught her eye as she passed. She came to an abrupt stop and whirled around to see a beautifully crafted vase with intricate gold decorations and flower steps printed along the base. She moved to it and quickly picked it up by the twin handles at each side with a slight grunt. She heaved it over her chest and looked over her shoulder when a starling gunshot rang in her ears, sending a jolt through her.

A heavy body hit the ground nearby and shortly, she heard a familiar groan.

Her heart raced in trepidation.

Laughter echoed above the high ceilings of the ballroom, which she quickly recognized after staring at the vase in her arms long enough, and very quietly, she continued down the hall. There was still more activity coming from the other side of the house where she suspected Shinji was still alive, else the gang of invaders must have been quite stupid.

A low voice addressed another as she tiptoed toward the aperture between the messily opened doors.

No response.

"…Guess rumors aren't true?"

When Layla peeked inside, her eyes went wide.

Starrk was lying on his back with a hand over a gun wound on his chest; the bullet seemed to have barely missed his heart. She inwardly damned Solomon. His assailant, dressed completely in black, was standing before him with a gun pointed directly at his face.

Layla's eyebrows furrowed as she took another long look behind her and around the room, determining it was empty, before creeping into the extravagantly garish ballroom. It was unused and full of cobwebs and the vile smell of abandonment, but wide with high ceilings that were fancily painted and outdated chandeliers. She halted her breathing and carefully, as stealthy as a cat, stopped behind the taller male, unnoticed by either men as their focuses were on each other. And she raised the fancy vase high above her head, straining her arms to do so, before slamming it with every ounce of force available to her over the stranger's head.

The man had little reaction time as he took the impact full, stumbled slightly, and dropped a few feet from Starrk.

"Layla…?" he said, baffled, eyes wide.

She crouched down immediately, pushing his hand from the wound. "I cannot share a room with that grandfather of yours," she said hastily, glancing in every direction as her husband's eyes bore into her face, disbelieving. "He is quite morbid, you know, and that is not good for my nerves."

She was having trouble unbuttoning his shirt when he jerked her hands from him, a firm expression on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried," she argued through clenched teeth.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Why would you put yourself in danger in your condition?"

His belittlement angered her. "…Because I am like you!"

He looked surprised for a moment. "What?"

"Honestly, Starrk," she huffed, reaching underneath her dragging nightgown to a leather strap holding a tiny pistol. "My father taught me how to shoot at ten. I may not be perfect, but I can defend myself. For goodness sake, I can't believe you thought me to be a useless ninny."

"W-what?"

She ignored him, going back to his wound. "The bullet isn't deep," she said gently. "You are quite luck—"

Layla hadn't heard the running steps until the door slammed into a wall and Starrk grabbed her by the arm, pulling her down, and raised his gun at lightning speed, firing. The bullet hit the wall nearby, startling the unknown man in black.

Before another word or gun was raised, a shot sounded, and the man fell forward, dead.

Shinji emerged from the doorway that time, aghast. His grimace doubled upon laying eyes on his charge. "What the hell Layla?"

Layla bolted to her feet. "He's wounded and it's your fault! I asked you to protect him!"

"You asked me to _help _him! There's a difference!"

"I obviously meant _protect _as well!"

Starrk struggled to stand, groaning from a sudden shock from the open wound. "We need to call a doctor."

But neither his wife nor her guard was listening.

"I'm not psychic, Layla, ya gotta tell me these things!"

"You should know what I'm thinking now after four months! I'm paying you!"

"Shit money!"

"I'm offended!"

"Good! 'Cause ya promised more than shit money, ya liar!"

"We agreed on installments until I take possession of my fortune."

"Layla—"

"Installments don't keep me fed!"

"Of course, they don't!" Layla jabbed a finger to her chest. "I keep you fed!"

"Crap food!" he argued.

"We eat at the same table, you ungrateful bastard!"

Sighing, Starrk wobbled past them holding a bloodied hand to his chest. There was no use stopping them when they were so into the senseless argument. He could already hear Lucie's outrageous screams ringing out from the bottom of the grand staircase and it reminded him to clean sweep out the bodies…after a doctor had a look at the wound.

He sighed again. He sure missed having Ulquiorra around, though the man tended to wander off wordlessly and seemed to hate his job, doctors were important to have around.

. . . .

Doctor Fuller came at short notice to check Starrk's wound, guiding him into an adjacent room where he meticulously removed the bullet.

Layla had to leave the room after feeling incredibly nauseous and returned to bed with Shinji sitting at her bedside. There was no other noise apart from their leveled breathing and the occasional rustling of the sheets with her tossing and turning. She couldn't sleep no matter how she tried.

"Second thoughts?"

"No."

Shinji shot her a sideway glance. "Sure?"

There was no silence between answers, not a second ticked by amongst thoughts.

"No," she answered, just as simply. "I am positive."

* * *

Starrk needed rest the following days, but he insisted they relocated temporarily, as he wasn't prepared to put Layla in further danger. He had turned into a worrisome husband the past two days, although he wasn't allowed out of bed and only spoke between naps. Layla was against moving, especially because he wanted her and Shinji to go on ahead since his condition was at its worst at the moment. And quite frankly, as his wife, Layla had separation anxiety, but it wasn't something Solomon couldn't talk her out of. There was a special quality about that old man's speeches, they always seemed to jerk you around every which direction without you taking notice.

So, without complaint, Layla and Shinji were sent off to an unknown town by a harbor where they would stay until Starrk's arrival. No formal goodbyes were exchanged. Solomon welcomed Layla and Shinji to stay at his home when they managed to shake off their troubles. She merely kissed her husband, whispering sweet words as her farewell, and gently touched his face once more—dreading the anxiety building in the pit of her stomach.

One could say she hadn't woken up that morning with the clearest mind and the most hopeful emotions. There was something about that crisp autumn morning that bore a forewarning of coming dangers and the turmoil presented itself as a bottomless pit in her stomach. She had never felt so nervous leaving Penthurst Hall since her arrival and it truly felt like it was the last time she would step foot into the gargantuan, stone mansion.

Layla stepped onto the gravel driveway where a carriage awaited her entry and turned to the tightly shut oak doors. Standing at the top of a short staircase, Starrk leaned against a nearby post, beside him his grandfather and Lucie, the tearing housekeeper who was waving frantically. Lucie had been the most devastated about their departure shortly after hearing of Layla's pregnancy. She had tried coaxing Layla into staying a few days longer while she prepared a gift for their future son/daughter, but Solomon explained their leave was imperative to their safety and she calmed down long enough to see them out the door.

Everything looked so perfect. There was a pink afterglow in the horizon as the sun began to spill over the clutter of buildings beyond the snoozing city of Norwich.

"Viscountess?"

"Hmm?"

Layla turned around to face Solomon's driver sitting atop his perch with the horses reigns in hand, kindly gesturing her into the elegant carriage.

Shinji poked his head out of the inside. "We're bound ta miss the train if ya keep dillydallying."

Layla looked back up the staircase and courteously tipped her head, returning a white hat to her head and stepped into the carriage. Shinji offered her a hand and helped her settle into the seat across him before he leaned over her to shut the door. He signaled the driver with a quick knock against the wall.

The viscountess couldn't take her eyes off her husband.

"Ya are goin' ta see 'im again, y'know?"

She felt the bumps of gravel driveway as the carriage began moving toward the tall gates.

"We haven't been apart in four months," she said quietly. "So, I'm a bit sad. Much like you were upon leaving Roxanne."

Shinji snorted. "I'm glad the brat's gone! She's horrible! She never listens!"

"You can't expect a child to act like an adult, especially one without a sense of propriety," she replied, leaning back into her seat, eyes glinting as they met his. "But of course, you don't view her as a child; she is a woman in your eyes."

His face flushed. "Forget I said anything!"

She laughed heartily, feeling quite proud of her ability to veer the conversation down a teasing route. She didn't want to talk about her attachment to Starrk as honestly as Shinji might have expected to hear.

It wasn't until they entered a main road toward Norwich that Layla decided to speak again.

"Where are we heading?"

"Wymondham [**1**]," said Shinji calmly. "The railway is relatively small and generally overlooked."

"Fantastic," she said with a broad smile. "I hope the fruit stalls are set up by the time we arrive."

"Didn't ya have enough ta eat an hour ago?"

"It doesn't mean I stopped being hungry."

He rolled his eyes and continued on, "We'll take the first train to Cambridge and board a second to—"

"…Are we slowing down?"

It had taken a minute for her to notice the abrupt change of pace. Layla quickly looked out the window and up ahead to see that the road had been completely empty.

The neighing of horses rang in their ears and as the scenery stopped changing, an incredible thud hit the ground beside the door and the carriage came to an immediate halt.

Shinji and Layla exchanged skeptical glances, unsure of what to expect, but the blond ex-chief knocked at the wall, searching for a response from their driver.

"Do you…?" started Layla gently.

Shinji nodded firmly, reaching into his jacket for a handgun. He kept his eyes fixed out the window before propping open the carriage door to reveal the body of their driver, who had taken a hit to the head.

Layla's face twisted in displeasure as she noticed the blood pooling around the poor man's head. He wouldn't be in good shape for quite some time, considering the rough fall.

"Stay inside," ordered Shinji stringently.

"Oh, I know already!" she hissed, feeling coddled and nauseous at the same time.

Being a member of the Three Families during pregnancy lost its appeal. Determined they were wealthy and of the highest class, Layla thought she wouldn't have to lift a finger until the child's birth, but she never really took elopement and the Fourth Family's threat into account when formulating her past ideals. She figured she would be settled and married to a man of her father's approval—someone with title and security—and she would live in an extravagant manor where she would spend all nine months of pregnancy in paradise with everyone at her beck and call.

Back when she first met Starrk, she never would have considered being his bride, let alone be the mother of his children. She would be against the mere thought and poor Orihime would never hear the end of her complaints. But she quickly brushed the thoughts from her mind, believing they were growing too free-spirited for her liking.

Overall, feeling coddled should have been the last thought in her mind while Shinji bravely stepped out of the carriage to clear their surroundings of dangers. Strangely enough, sitting inside the compartment was something she didn't want to do. She might be pregnant—three months and in incredibly fragile condition—but she hated feeling useless surrounded by men capable of sweeping an entire army with a handgun and twin pistols. It was quite belittling and it might have been brash of her to compare herself to them in that sort of situation.

Still, her father did not put her through hell and back teaching her to shoot various pistols and force her into fencing so she could sit by in the sidelines cheering on her husband and bodyguard.

God forgive her for being the slightest bit perturbed (for every wrong reason…and right) and quite unladylike with her intentions. So, she stayed put, watching her guard venture out of sight with his gun pointed to the ground as he took in his surroundings with every cautious step.

Layla peered out the open door, craning her neck to have a better look, until she saw a blurred figure with a large metal pipe held over his head.

She stumbled out, lifting the skirt of her dress to keep from stepping on it. "Shinji!"

Shinji felt something hard hit him before he was knocked unconscious and his body fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

A brusque-looking male appeared from behind the carriage with a long pipe resting over his shoulder tainted with both the blood of her guard and Solomon's driver. He grinned from ear to ear, eyes glinting, as he took a step forward to watch her take another back.

"Who sent you?" she said breathlessly, heart racing.

"Douglas Gray is impatiently waiting your arrival, viscountess."

Not another thought form in her mind as her back hit something hard and an arm wound around. A handkerchief was pressed to her mouth and nose; she had no choice but to inhale the drug.

. . . .

Layla woke during various intervals during a lengthy travel. Bleary eyes trying to decipher the shadows within the carriage, but they often met with the familiar smirking face of her kidnapper and the smell of her guard's cologne at her side. It eased the convulsion in her belly, but did not relieve her of the indescribable fear for her child.

It was almost unfair.

Holding back tears, she returned to the abysmal darkness awaiting her.

. . . .

The room smelled of burning wood and a varying palette of men's cologne, from the strongest most stinging scents to the faintest and irrelevant. Layla was startled to find herself bound by the wrists and ankles in some corner of what seemed to be an office. There were hushed voices and various other individuals lying around the floor nearby, equally restricted, few awakened with cloths tied about their mouths to keep them silent while others remained unconscious.

"Layla," came a pained voice behind her.

She jerked backward, craning her neck to see Shinji sitting up by a corner with dried blood staining his face and matted into his blond hair.

"Oh?" she started, delighted to see him, in a low tone. "Thank goodness, you're fine."

He hushed her, regardless, as the voices in the background continued. "I know where we are," he said lowly, not waiting for her response. "We are inside Wedgeworth's property, outside London."

_London!_

The mere thought made her wonder just how long Wedgeworth and his men have kept them tied up to their misery.

Shinji grunted as he continued his lengthy struggle to release his bound hands from the loosening rope. "Give me a couple minutes; I'll have ya untied in a second."

Layla rested her head and took a deep breath, hearing the grumbling of the other prisoners. She was full of worry.

Within a number of minutes, Shinji untied himself and quickly moved toward Layla with the sharp end of a knife to the rope binding her hands. He roughly cut through the thick rope around her wrists and ankles. She sat up quickly, rubbing the tender skin of her wrists, and having a better look around to recognize every prisoner within the room was a member of the beneficiary, but was happy to know she didn't know any of them personally.

Shinji unknotted the rope tied around his ankles. "I'll distract them while you run."

She nodded understandingly.

"Run through the forest, it will take ya to recognizable territory if ya know yer way 'round London."

"…And the others?" she asked gently, looking from side to side.

"Wedgeworth doesn't want any of us, he wants you. He aint gonna hurt anyone if it aint you. They plan ta kill ya in front of everyone tomorrow evening if ya stay any longer."

She gulped down the lump in her throat. "I understand."

"I'll meet up with ya in the agreed place."

"Okay."

Shinji peered over the large desk sitting before a large mantle and saw a group of four noblemen (Wedgeworth included) and a number of guards on standby. He nodded toward his charge once more before straightening out with a smile that spread from ear to ear.

"'Ey guys."

The guards in black quickly jumped into action, not needing Wedgeworth's bellowing order ("GET HIM!"). Shinji sprung forward with fisted hands and a quick resolve. Layla only needed to wait for the right moment before rushing straight toward the door. If she didn't go into cardiac arrest, that is. She swore she couldn't feel her arms and legs with her heart hammering so hard in her ribcage. She figured the trepidation was horrible for the baby, but they were in a dire situation and she needed to brave up. Once she was out of danger, she could cry about it, but now was not the time.

Shinji had skillfully taken down three guards, knocking the bulky men unconscious and taking one of their weapons to take on the rest—though a new flood spilled through the double doors, making it nearly impossible to handle on his own.

The man she believed to be Wedgeworth was escorting his friends through a secret passage when Layla saw an opening. She sprang to her feet and ran straight toward the opened door.

"No!" screamed Wedgeworth, scrambling from place after watching her form fleet out the doorway. "She is getting away!"

His men quickly rushed after her.

She turned straight into a connecting hallway, running as fast as her legs could carry her, glancing over her shoulder occasionally. She kept skidding across hallways, running around in circles as the trio running after her slowly catching up to her. They had been ordered not to hurt her, simply to bring her back—by force, as it was deemed necessary.

She felt vertigo and a jabbing pain at her side. She cried out in pain, slowing down her pace until she finally tumbled over the ground with the corners of her eyes darkening with every blink. She clasped a hand to her side, struggling to contain the sudden tingling ache, but before accomplishing anything, she felt a man force her to her feet.

Breathing heavily with bleary eyes, Layla stared at the three men helplessly. "_Please_," she begged ungraciously, winding an arm around her stomach. "_Please._"

She couldn't utter the words that should have followed, but the men didn't care if she cried or begged. They merely tossed her back into Wedgeworth office where she stumbled onto the ground on her side, crying out in pain.

"Handle her with care, boys," started Wedgeworth, an older man with thinning brown hair. "Douglas Gray wants her in perfect condition when he comes by this evening."

Layla's eyes scoured her surroundings and she felt the tears spring to her eyes as she saw Shinji lying motionless a few feet from her. She shook her head in disbelief and whispered, "_No_."

Wedgeworth regarded her fallen guard like one would a dead animal. "He was quite skilled," he murmured, looking her straight into the face. "But there is strength in numbers. In the end, he turned out useless, don't you agree?"

She gathered herself from the ground, sitting up straightly and looked to him with furrowed eyebrows. She needed to be strong. She had to chant the words like a prayer to feel the strength coursing through her body. Even so, without those words, she knew exactly what to do in that situation.

"Do not speak his name."

Wedgeworth chuckled darkly, amused by the sudden change in her appearance. There was something dark and menacing about her aura. "You are as Douglas Gray described," he said simply. "I can see why he likes you so much."

"I am quite enchanting," she replied nonchalantly.

He snorted. "I wouldn't say enchanting, but you are a beautiful woman, viscountess."

"Thank you, Lord Wedgeworth," she said with an appeased nod.

"…It is a shame your father so willingly made you his heir," he started mockingly, "you were quite easy to catch."

A wicked smile appeared on her face. It perturbed him. "…I do believe you view this wrongly, Lord Wedgeworth."

"Oh?"

"You judge me for being a woman and not for what I have to offer, isn't that correct?"

"Women have no place in positions of power."

"Ah, there," she said, lifting a finger, "you have slandered your Queen's good image. I do think she does a wonderful job, but she is easily manipulated by third parties, like perhaps, the Fourth Family?"

Infuriated, Wedgeworth had pointed a gun to her head. "Silence!"

Layla gently moved the pistol from her head, pointing it elsewhere. "Do not point a pistol to my head, Lord Wedgeworth, it is bad manners."

Her chiding tone fueled his anger and he quickly jerked the gun back into place. "You will not tell me what to do!"

"…Or else what?" she said fearlessly, an eyebrow quirked curiously, "You'll kill me?"

Wedgeworth needed no time to debate. At the peak of his anger, he wouldn't stand another moment in this woman's presence. He didn't care if Douglas Gray requested she stay living until his arrival.

"I will."

"Will you?" she said incredulously. "I do not think you the type, Lord Wedgeworth. It is unbecoming of you."

His face had turned a disgusting shade of purple, his hand shook as the barrel of the gun pressed hard against her forehead. It was cold.

"Last words…?" he said, finger on the trigger.

"I win."

. . . .

In the distance, a pistol fired.

Birds swarmed out of neighboring trees and woodland animals scrambled to hide in their respective homes. It alerted the traveling caravan crossing the thick sylvan and it ached in the hearts of many.

A silence fell across London in the gray hour [**2**].

* * *

[**1**] A market town and civil parish (inside Norfolk), which sits 9 miles away from Norwich.

[**2**] It is the moment where it's neither night nor day.

* * *

**Beta'd by**: TheAwesomeRandom

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**_Thanks to_**_: ookawa and rainy-lullaby for reviewing the previous chapter!_

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**x L i l i m**:

I shamelessly plotted to keep the chapter hostage until next week, but it's so self-explanatory and quite awesome, I figured it carried itself well on its own. Now, there is only one chapter left to Part I of Masquerade and it's shorter than anything I've ever posted here, but it wraps everything up as should be.

Again, I'm going on a brief hiatus (a month or two, most likely the latter) and will return with the 9 chapter that make up Part II: Camellia.

Chapter 41 will most likely be posted on Saturday next week and with it a preview of Camellia. :)

Thank you for reading!

Also, sorry if this chapter made you hate me, but it left you hanging...and that's the point.

**_P.S._**

****I'm going to shamelessly promote my new story, Nightshade, here because I love it enough to disgrace myself doing this. So, if you like multiple OCs and Aizen, Urahara, Gin, Starrk, or Grimmjow, and fantasy-romance themed AUs I highly recommend it. (Shinji plays a big role there in the later chapters, if that helps. So do many other characters: Orihime, Byakuya, Rukia, Ichigo, Ulquiorra, Matsumoto, Hitsugaya, and Yoruichi to name a few.) Give it a read!


	41. Deathly Sorrows: End of Part I

**Masquerade**

Chapter 41

-_**Deathly Sorrows**_-

_Only time will tell_

_When wounds can heal_

"Layla is dead," relayed Soifon grimly to Earl Aizen and Jaelle.

Jaelle stumbled backward into the nearest seat, holding both hands to her face, somehow hoping the gesture would be enough to hide from this painful reality, but her heart was shattered. It was obvious to her that the pieces could not be reassembled. There were too many shards—as sharp as knives—that it would take an eternity to heal, or maybe it was merely impossible because the loss itself was too big to fathom.

Tears dripped down her face and she sobbed noisily into her palms, unable to form a single word. She couldn't pick herself from that seat. She couldn't stand to acknowledge her eldest daughter was dead.

No parent could stand that sort of reality.

Aizen kept his composure. "How?"

It pained Soifon to be professional about this. She had grown up with Layla, as her bodyguard and servant, and it simply felt unfair. She needed to act a certain way, had to exude that cold exterior even while it hurt to do so because she had been trained by the best to stand above the rest. If everyone was a mess, who would lead? So, she swallowed the emotion down and recomposed her cold front.

"It seems Lord Wedgeworth caught up to Miss Layla and Shinji Hirako as they were heading into Norwich," she explained calmly. "Our sources claim they were taken to his private property where they were meant to await Douglas Gray's appearance before carrying out his plans to publically execute Miss Layla, but there were many elements he needed to take under account.

"It seems Lord Wedgeworth had captured a number of the Families' beneficiary over the past few weeks and planned to extract information from the weak, but with the arrival of Miss Layla and Shinji Hirako his plans were pushed back. He never though they would cause an uproar and that it would lead to many prisoners attempting to escape. It seems Miss Layla was caught in the fray and that's where everything seemed to have gone downhill.

"The Scotland Yard found the cremated remains early this morning and they have identified half the victims after raiding Wedgeworth's property and speaking to the survivors."

"Who are the survivors?" asked Aizen coldly, unfazed by the news.

"Camille Remington and the Stanton siblings."

He recognized the names from his beneficiary. "And Viscount Lisle?"

"In Penthurst Hall with the Duke of Norwich."

"Relay the information to him," he said, taking a step back and turning to pace around his office contemplatively.

"I doubt that will be necessary," admitted Soifon cautiously. "The news is already circulating the market."

Aizen nodded, casting a sideway glance at Jaelle's hunched form. "Bring him, then," he said briskly. "He is now without attachment and Sun-Sun is still without a husband."

Jaelle felt her blood boil at the sound of his demand. He acted as if his dog had died and he thought it best to shrug it off by purchasing a new one. Of course, she wouldn't put it past him. He was not the sort of man with attachments.

"You selfish pig!" she cried vehemently, slapping her hands to her knees. "Our daughter just died!"

"Silence Jaelle," he said crisply, keeping his attention on Soifon, who looked every bit as bothered, "Do as I say."

"…She was with child." Unable to keep her silence, Soifon spoke seriously, "Camille Remington confirmed it."

For the first time, Aizen looked baffled.

Jaelle only cried harder, breaking back down as she sunk into the seat.

And from the tiny aperture in the doorway, two bright-eyed teenagers felt the crush of loss. Roxanne cupped both hands over her mouth, unable to restrain the conflicting emotion (hearing that Shinji Hirako met a similar fate) and Rye cried devastating tears, turning away down the hall in an attempt to hide his sadness.

It was only a matter of minutes before everyone was informed of the tragedy.

* * *

Lilynette burst through the bedroom door and, without any sense of decorum, jumped onto the bed where she worried her brother might be too distraught to function, given the news. She traveled long and far to be present in his time of need, but knew the subject of which she came to address was delicate to touch upon. Lilynette met Layla Aizen a few times and during that stretch, they had spoken very little. She didn't know the woman as much as she might have wanted at the moment. If she had, she wouldn't have felt like an intruder then, and might not have hesitated at the door.

Starrk didn't move from the uncomfortable position, even if the bullet wound's stinging pain asked him to. The shoulder numbed after the first three hours and he was sure there was nothing more painful than what happened.

Quietly, she called his name. It was almost hesitant. "Starrk?"

No response.

A small hand fell onto his shoulder, fingers curving over it gingerly as if not to break him. "Are you okay?"

"No."

It was a curt and gruff response. It was very unlike him.

"Neliel brought me," she explained slowly. "She stayed downstairs and—"

"Layla was pregnant."

Bright eyes went wide and Lilynette instantly felt useless. There was no way she could help him. "Was she…?"

Starrk nodded in confirmation. "She was forced to leave this home with one bodyguard because I urged her." He closed his eyes tightly, clenching a fist over his chest as he curled into himself, trying hard to vanish. "I killed _them_. All of them."

And there was nothing more she could say. She meekly rested her head on his arm and held him carefully. Her heart sunk and the emotion welled up in her eyes. She had never seen her brother so…so _broken._

* * *

The shadow curtain fell across England, the news reached everyone quickly—printed in the papers, there was no doubt every person within the Three Families jurisdiction was aware of the loss—because the sole Aizen heir had perished and that weakened his position of power.

Many saw this occurring; trusting a woman with such a burden had been his sole mistake.

Layla Aizen died November 1881.

The funeral was held privately, but had been well attended, though there was no true remains left of the woman everyone gathered to see. Mourning, the entire Aizen family, its beneficiary, and Layla's closest friend—the Duchess of Cambridge—dressed in black, those capable of shedding tears did so while holding onto what little remained of their hearts.

Only the Viscount Lisle was missing.

He never arrived to pay his respects. Not then. Not ever.

**Part I: Magnolia/END**

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**Thanks to**: rainy-lullaby and Starfire8001 for reviewing the previous chapter.

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**x L i l i m**:

Hate me all you want, but as it is the end of Part I of Masquerade, I want to hear everyone's opinion of the entire thing!

You can tell me what you like and didn't like-whatever you want. So, silent readers, if you would please kindly step forward as well, I would greatly appreciate it. :) It'll feed my motivation to finish Part II faster. Haha, just kidding, I'm writing it up as we speak, 2 chapter out of 8 are complete, but I won't be posting until it is finished and perfected. Why? I want to consistently post a chapter a week and simultaneously prepare for the dreaded Part III: Scarlet (Trust me, it'll be dreaded. You'll probably flail at the twist at the end of Part II...and maybe hate me more. ha!)

Now, don't fret, the real story starts in Part II and it will be emotional, dramatic, raw, and everything I hoped it to be. It will follow quite a few characters, actually (e.g. Rovina and Elliot Stephenson, Starrk, Ukitake, Roxanne, Gwyneth and Jasper Stanton, Constantine Gervais-Duke of Burgundy, by the way, Robin Talbot, Douglas Gray, Nell, Nnoitra, Grimmjow, Ulquiorra, and Orihime! I could go on and you'll probably be wondering how I'm going to fit everything in eight chapters, right? But it's mostly setting the stage for the big finale. I hope to have a couple romances resolved by the time this story comes to an end as a whole.)

There will be Rovina/Ukitake because it's _my _guilty pleasure. And some Starrk/Sun-Sun, but probably not in the way you think. Actually, Starrk will probably be getting a lot of tail in Part II, but that's all going to be properly adjusted into his character and reasoned. I doubt he intentionally gets women, you know, they probably just go to him...he's so lovely. There is some Roxanne scenes in which she romances with a very mysterious man, but of course, that's her venturing down her own path of destruction shortly after realizing the bit of attachment she developed to Shinji.

Gwyneth Stanton plays a big role in Part II as well. And while I like how playful her demeanor is, I wonder how everyone else will react.

Layla does play a prominent role in Starrk's and Rovina's flashbacks/dreams. So you will see the development in Starrk/Layla's relationship during their stay at Penthurst Hall, which I intentionally omitted. :) Look forward to that.

Oh, and before I go, I shamelessly going to abuse the M-rated tag, but I will point out that the following part may venture beyond that. There are a lot of dark themes that I won't spill. There are also a lot of elements that I won't detail, but it will be 100x more mature than that sole smut scene I wrote. Don't worry guys. I'll make it up to y'all an' make 'em extra dirty if you wish.

There's a preview for Ch. 1 of Camellia (Masque P.2) up in my lj. You can find a link somewhere in my profile. There's a "masterlist" link near the top of the page that would probably help more.

So, thank you for reading! Don't forget to give me your opinions on Part I (justly dubbed: Stage) and share any speculations you may have about the future chapters. :)

Sorry for the chapter being so incredibly short, but it served more as an epilogue than ordinary chapter. And sorry it took so long, my beta disappeared and I haven't heard from her in a while, so I decided to post the chapter! Beta'd version when available.


	42. Fragments of Past and Present

[ II. **Camellia** ]

One: _**Fragments of Past and Present**_

_Tell the little truths you pass as lies,_

_Let me be your minds divide_

_Guide me to the world you please_

_And I'll help your world sleep at ease_

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**Winter, 1885**

Tears streaked rubicund cheeks and melded with the blood dripping from a scraped chin. Bright blue eyes reflected the reason for her vehement outcry, mirrored the flames seizing every inch of passion, creativity, and love devoted to the dozens of canvases laid out in the courtyard of Thornepike Manor.

Struggling with dwindling amounts of strength, Rovina Stephenson, Duchess of Cambridge, felt her heart crumble as though a sledgehammer had met and singlehandedly shattered the appendage. Nails helplessly clawed at the strong pair of arms threatening to crush her, body battered and integrity humiliated, she had been displayed as the centerpiece of the evening before a stretch of masked guests. Yet, for that short instance, Rovina abandoned all propriety as she begged the merciful god to stop her demon husband, Elliot, from setting her paintings ablaze before a sea of mocking smiles and tried with all her might to obstruct his path. But Elliot prepared for her thrashing, ordering one of his huge bodyguards to stop her from doing anything against their guests' enjoyment.

"Please stop!" she cried as exhaustion claimed her weathered body.

Tears stained the arms of her captive, tinted pink by the blood running from her nose and the gash on her chin. Her voice softened as weary eyes blurred the figure of the tall, dark-haired male standing with another portrait in his hands. She strained her vision, but immediately regretted doing so as she recognized the painting in his hands and the others stacked to his left where a lackey handed them to his master.

"No," she whispered desperately. That portrait had brought her much happiness because she had painted its embodiment, Jūshirō Ukitake. Her mind wildly uttered the same inquiry repeatedly: _how did he get that portrait? _"N-no. N-not that one. Burn them all, but please, for god's sake, don't—don't burn that one…"

Elliot Stephenson, Duke of Cambridge, twisted his upper body to face her head on. The fury in his expression need not hide behind that feathered mask. She read it in the tightness of his jaw and the intensity in the ambience.

"Have you, perchance, fallen in love with Jūshirō Ukitake?"

He struggled to keep the demureness in his tone, acting as though the thought had not ignited some sort of hatred toward the gentleman in question. All Elliot had known was that Rovina had always been so helplessly in love with him and somehow acknowledging that it diminished to be directed at some man she had only met once or twice. It infuriated him.

"No!" she breathed, but the word sounded like a lie.

Even so, she wished with every fiber of her being for it to be a lie, then she wouldn't feel obligated to go through the humiliation, beatings, or rape to prove to her heart and body that she had not resigned her love for Elliot.

Elliot's fury pushed him to toss the canvas and viciously stomp over it until the wood had twisted and splintered off, until there was nothing left of the carefully crafted painting but the imprint of his Hessian boots. The remains were kicked into the flames.

She had never screamed so loud in protest or fought so hard.

"You beast!" she yelled, full of startling conviction. "You despicable monster! Has it not been enough to spit on my love that you must now kill my dreams?" Voice hoarse and heart accelerating, the duchess broke down into sobs. "I hate you. I hate you so, so much."

_I should have never loved you_.

The fire inside dimmed; there was no light in her eyes.

Elliot had burned the last memory of happiness she had left and her hope weakened.

Voracious laughter resounded in the dead of night, reaching the ears of the manor's spectators—a lot of servants powerless to save their duchess.

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_"Stop fidgeting!"_

Jūshirō Ukitake, grandson to the powerful Genryūsai Yamamoto, froze in his seat as commanded. Brown orbs fluttered about restlessly as he smiled awkwardly, unconsciously trying to impress the beautiful redhead sitting across him before a large canvas.

"Honestly, sir, you are making this portrait quite difficult," murmured Rovina Stephenson, Duchess of Cambridge.

Her paintbrush gently glided across the canvas as her blue eyes flickered to the white-haired man, taking in a bit more of his features and immortalizing them with meticulous talent.

Dropping her hands to her lap, noticing the slight awkward shift in the ambience, she frowned as she stared him straight in the face. "Don't tell me you're nervous!"

"Sorry," he replied gently. "I have never been asked to pose for a painting before."

The duchess smiled deviously, a small glint in her eyes. "I am quite honored to be your first."

"Duchess!" he cried, face flushed.

She chuckled, amused.

"You are far too easily flustered," she said aloud, slumping into her seat slightly and eyed the unfinished canvas in front of her before shooting Jūshirō a curious glance.

Jūshirō had relaxed beneath her scrutiny, scratching the back of his head and smoothing out the wrinkles of his brown suit. He smiled at her gently, holding her gaze.

Rovina set her paintbrush aside and stood up straightly, stretching her arms over her head. "You must be exhausted; would you care for a cup of tea?"

He stood with a curt nod and extended his arm toward her. "Shall we?"

"Oh," she said, stepping toward him and slipping her arm into his. "It would be my pleasure."

They took the gravel path back into her private manor, both glancing at the freshly blooming roses decorating the way back. It had been her idea to paint the portrait outside because the sunshine would provide wonderful lighting. She inwardly felt it might compliment the strong outline of his face, bring out more of his handsomeness, and when she placed him perfectly beneath a curtain of sunlight, she struggled to start her piece. She wasn't sure if she would truly be able to capture the moment. He had smiled so brightly, her breath hitched and traitorous heart skipped a beat.

He was pure joy and maybe, all those months she spent at his side was to feed a sliver of hope—somehow that happiness may rub off on her and by some unforeseen miracle help fix her catastrophic life.

"Do you have a rose garden back home?" she asked quietly, looking up before quickly adding, "In Japan, I mean."

"No, but we have chrysanthemums and many sakura trees," he answered with a smile.

She looked at him skeptically. "Sakura?"

"Cherry blossoms," he said, noticing her expression hadn't changed and glanced upward thoughtfully. "You've never seen them before?"

"I haven't left London in years," she said calmly, "let alone traveled overseas."

"Would you like to travel overseas?" he suggested with a large smile. "My sisters would love you."

Rovina's eyes widened. "Overseas?"

"Yes," he continued excitedly, "to Japan, I'll take you to see the sakura trees, they're beautiful in the spring."

She almost couldn't keep up with her set of crazed thoughts. She felt her heart leap in pure delight that she found the anticipation forcing her to stumble over words. "…B-but everything looks b-best in the spring."

They stopped a few feet from the entrance of her home, turning towards each other. His hands took hers gently. "Of course, but you would love it there in the spring," he said firmly, smile never fading, "and I am very eager to introduce you to the rest of my family."

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "R-really?"

"Ah," he said slowly, staring at her carefully. "You're blushing, duchess."

Her hand flew to her cheeks and she quickly twisted her body away. "You mustn't embarrass a lady!"

He laughed aloud. "But you are so beautiful, Rovina."

Blue eyes snapped to the man at her side, cheeks burning brightly. She couldn't believe those words. Not when those words had never honestly been spoken about her as she continued aging, not from the person she wanted to hear them from most.

"T-truly?" she asked gently.

"Very beautiful."

Her heart fluttered like a dozen butterflies taking simultaneous flight.

She caught her mind in the midst of its distraught and suddenly rushed straight into the house, abandoning inappropriate thoughts.

"I'll have tea served immediately," she said primly, stopping a meter from him and raising her voice loud enough to reach him. "Meet me in the sitting room. I have something to say to Acacia."

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Acacia, a pink-faced woman with graying strands in a headful of raven locks, gently dabbed a wet washcloth over the scrape underneath Rovina's chin, removing the crusted blood from the wound. The Duchess of Cambridge, who had always been revered for her beauty and confident air, was sitting quietly with bloodshot eyes and a body covered in fresh bruises. Mistreated by a husband driven by madness and humiliated before crowds of filthy-minded nobles without hearts, the damage had weathered the body once called beautiful. Wet red hair clung to her skin as blue eyes stared vacantly at the wall across the room.

Rovina couldn't bear the void of sadness inside her heart. It was slowly threatening to spill over and drown her.

"Please don't leave," she whispered hesitantly. "D-don't leave me in this room with that man."

Acacia's eyes widened. It was too demanding of a request and it tore her heart apart hearing the desperation in her lady's voice, but the duchess asked the same out of her every night, knowing it was impossible. Acacia wished she could stay by her duchess' side, wished that there was some way for her to protect her.

Except…there was no comfort in the world with the power to save her.

"Just don't leave me here to die. _Please_." A new wave of tears sprung into her eyes and carefully rolled down her cheeks. "I don't want to die by his hand."

"Don't ask the impossible of me, my lady," whispered Acacia with glassy eyes. The plump woman turned away and dipped the washcloth into a basin of pink-tinted water. "I cannot help you."

. . . .

Sometimes dreaming was the only escape.

Rovina no longer wanted to exist in society or in life, for that matter. She woke to that wave of emotion every morning and struggled to sleep with the sheer realization that nothing would ever change between herself and Elliot.

There would never be peace.

She needed to die in order for that to be possible.

Dreaming could only provide her momentary tranquility, time that did not truly exist within the real world—among picturesque situations, surrounded by a handful of acquaintances everything could be forgotten. Hours passed like rushing water falling into a hollow pool before that stretched far beyond the surface. The depth of the water measured the time she wasn't too willing to count, wishing the moment was not a dream but reality. That she had truly been surrounded by the family that loved her and the friends she cherished.

The rushing current filled her ears, sun shone brightly from behind a sea of tall trees—broken into beautiful silhouettes—and everyone gathered over the large patch of wilderness dressed in pure white fabrics. She felt the water rippling around her dipped ankles and the spring breeze filling the air with flower petals.

"Don't you dare jump in that water!" cried a threatening voice behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder, Rovina watched as a small girl with bouncing brown curls in a frilly French dress rushed past her and jumped straight into the pool of glistening water. The incredible splash drenched anyone sitting around the edge of the water, including the duchess, Patricia and Jūshirō, who had just approached them.

"Oh! That girl!" cursed the auburn-haired woman, stopping short behind the group of drenched individuals. Brown eyes fluttered toward them worrisomely. "I'm so sorry!"

Jūshirō merely laughed, watching the girl emerge from the pool with her dark curls sticking close to alabaster skin and swim about. "She is only having fun, Layla."

Patricia stumbled onto her feet, holding a pregnant belly, and wobbled toward her husband. "I do think the breeze will get better," she called behind her, "This heat is outrageous!"

"Honestly, she thinks it's the middle of the night," remarked Rovina, "poor woman. That child is driving her mad."

"Mama! Wake papa!" called the dark haired girl from the water. "Tell him the water is fantastic!"

Layla huffed, twisting her body around to face her slumbering husband with a deep frown. "He's done nothing but sleep since we came." She turned her attention back to her daughter and smiled slightly. "Enjoy the water, darling, I'll sit by and watch you."

Rovina heard the ringing laughter of children and saw faces she thought she might never see again. Looking side to side, then all around, she was completely surrounded by the people she cherished the most and it amazed her. It made her feel as light as a feather and completely full of love because it was everywhere in all shapes and forms.

Then, like a multicolored haze, reality shattered fantasy, and what remained of that beautiful world were the fresh tears falling from her face. She dreamt of Layla and that child she had been carrying in her belly the moment of her death. Layla had never looked so radiant.

Body aching, Rovina felt a weight on her hips. Her tears were a sign of weakness. She was easy prey.

* * *

"Has Rovina written back?"

Coyote Starrk, Duke of Norwich, stood with his back to Penthurst Hall's housekeeper, Lucie, as his eyes scanned the long winding path that stretched beyond his estate. A year had passed since the unforeseen death of his grandfather, Solomon Yamamoto, the late Duke of Norwich, and it had been difficult for him to adjust to his newly inherited duties while balancing the whiplash of consequence for a three-year-old judgment.

"No," replied Lucie, a thin and prim woman with a smooth face and specks of gray in her tightly bound hair. Curious eyes flickered upward to meet her master's back. "Are you worried for the Duchess of Cambridge?"

Starrk remained silent. That marked an entire month without word from Rovina and he had an inkling of suspicion toward that action. Rovina was usually quick with correspondences, even with all the restrictions stopping her from continuing her social life. He knew little about the duchess' situation, only what he heard from his sources and the few things she managed to reveal. He suspected there was more, but he had been too busy searching for Bentley and Wedgeworth, both who had disappeared shortly after the latter's private home became a crime scene.

Things turned hectic within the Luisenbarn family, more so after Earl Aizen himself asked them to capture those particular members of the Fourth Family. The job automatically landed into his hands and he ordered Grimmjow, Nnoitra and Neliel to travel through various cities gathering information on either one. Ulquiorra stayed behind in Norwich in his manor to help whichever way he possibly could, not that he had been forced to do so.

Starrk's office door opened quietly and a curious auburn-haired girl poked her head in. "Umm, Miss Lucie."

"Lucie!" bellowed a young man from beyond the stairs.

Lucie twisted around with a firm expression as Starrk found his way back to his seat.

"Did something happen, Orihime?"

Orihime perked up at the sound of Starrk's voice, eyes widening slightly. "Umm, you see, Will—he, uhm—"

"What did that idiot do now?" cried Lucie, not sparing Starrk another glance and rushing out the door with Orihime in tow.

"S-sorry!"

Starrk leaned into his seat and closed his eyes.

Penthurst Hall was certainly livelier. With William as the manor's steward, Orihime as the head chef, Lilynette and Ulquiorra as the semi-permanent houseguests, along with Lucie and the group of amusing workers already residing in the manor, it might have been strange if Penthurst Hall had been as quiet as before.

…Or perhaps, it had been much livelier then with his grandfather teasing his wife as Shinji spewed complaints about his treatment bordering abuse, thus breaching the contract made with Layla.

Starrk remembered the last four months spent in Penthurst Hall with his late wife. There was always a sense of peace when they were together, a feeling that even in the worst situations; nothing could possibly go wrong because she had been for quite some time a lucky charm he loved dearly. But it had not only been that. She was the embodiment of peace, being of delicate health and fragile features…nobody but the truly perverse would dare harm something so…pure.

Reopening his eyes, Starrk had a difficulty focusing on his day-to-day duties.

. . . .

Orihime reappeared in Starrk's office late in the evening, eyes downcast after being scolded by Lucie for serving another one of her "special" dishes, to escort the short, raven-haired bodyguard inside. She curtsied appropriately and quickly strode out of the room, leaving Starrk alone with his newly arrived guest, Ggio Vega. He expected the visit or rather, had anticipated it.

Ggio reached into his coat to tug free three plain envelops and a distinguishable black one with the Luisenbarn seal. "Grimmjow found news on Douglas Gray that might interest you," he said calmly, "the next two are from the Duchess of Cambridge and Robin Talbot, respectively."

Starrk observed the shorter male quietly. He was more concerned about reading the information Grimmjow sent than answer to other letters, but the third envelope caught his interest. "…And that fourth one?"

"A personal invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Warwick celebration," replied Ggio, uninterested.

"Is the Duchess of Warwick healthy?"

"It would seem."

Starrk dismissed his bodyguard after the envelopes were left before his desk. His eyes went straight to the Warwick invitation.

Around a year and a half ago, the Duke of Burgundy renounced his French duchy to his younger brother, Ferdinand Gervais, to inherit the English duchy of Warwick to stay with his beloved, the beautiful Gwyneth Stanton. They were immediately married in a quiet, unknown ceremony only attended by intimate family members. It has since been said Gwyneth Stanton had always been of poor health, making it impossible for the woman to tend to her social duties. So, it surprised him to hear she was healthy enough to throw a lengthy soiree—an entire weekend within their extravagant home in Warwickshire. He could only imagine the list of individuals in attendance; everyone is always enthralled by mystery and the Duke and Duchess of Warwick are shrouded in it.

Starrk was suspicious, but he had bigger problems to tend to considering he was to make a big announcement where a group of trusted beneficiary and friends would gather.

He yawned widely.

There was work to be done, but he didn't seem to have the motivation to get it finished. He closed his eyes instead.

If he slept, he might wake up energized…but that was only wishful thinking.

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_"You're cheating!"_

Layla's nose wrinkled in distrust as she stared down Solomon Yamamoto, a white haired man who so happened to be Starrk's grandfather, on his father's side. She held a hand of cards close to her chest, peeking every so often to reassert her confidence in whatever remained of her luck during that evening's gambles.

Solomon chuckled amusedly. "I have not once cheated a lady."

"Do not think I'll believe you," she stated defensively.

Starrk and Shinji were asked to sit by and stay quiet, as neither one of them knew how to play the game properly. Somehow watching two experienced players was supposed to be enough to teach them, not that Shinji had minded, he hadn't been too interested when the idea dawned on them. Starrk was too tired to focus properly, oftentimes watching his wife and grandfather duplicate in two as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The day had been too long and Starrk eagerly awaited its conclusion. He spent half the morning out gathering information and confirming the enemy's position.

Lord Ezra Wedgeworth, owner of a remote Scottish barony, had recently been linked to the Fourth Family, one of their most trusted footmen, and he had been ordered by Douglas Gray, a representative of the Queen, to comb through England in search of the Viscount and Viscountess Lisle. Shinji Hirako, Layla's trusted bodyguard, was not safe either as he had acquired the Fourth Family's most prized possession, the Book of Death.

Shinji divulged the information he had on the Fourth Family and left the Book of Death in Layla's possession. It was thanks to the ex-chief that Starrk was able to pinpoint his enemies quickly and concoct a plan to avoid confrontation. They had an edge over their previously unseen enemy; they knew their movements and their members. They were a crew specifically established to destroy the Three Families by any means possible, created by Queen Victoria herself.

"Starrk!" cried Layla noisily.

Her husband snapped out of his reverie, glancing in her direction sleepily. "What?"

"Tell your grandfather to stop cheating!"

"I am not cheating," murmured Solomon in feigned displeasure. "Your wife does not seem to handle her losses well."

Starrk straightened out in his seat, hearing Shinji snort in response to the duke's accusation, and folded his arms over his chest. "Stop cheating my wife."

"Even Starrk thinks you're cheating," she said with a huff, pulling the cards from her chest to look down at her hand.

The older gentleman frowned. "Marriage is an unfair card to play, Layla."

"Even I think you're cheating," scoffed Shinji, flipping the page of the book he was reading. He shot Solomon a wicked grin.

Solomon chuckled, shaking his head. "Let us see how this hand serves me, since you are all so very doubtful."

He laid out his hand before the squared table between them and Layla frowned, seeing as his cards easily trump hers.

"You win," she said simply, without a cinch of displeasure, and stood. "I am very inclined to ask you for a rematch, a proper one with my own card set, but my husband seems to be dying in his seat."

Solomon smiled, his eyes crinkling as he shot a glance in Starrk's direction. "Oh yes, of course, what a lovely wife you are," he said amicably. "Worry not, Hirako and I will drink to our good fortune and talk about women."

Shinji barked out a laugh as he got out of his seat to join the duke. "He's an old fox."

Layla gently pulled Starrk out of his seat and smiled wryly. "Make sure to tell him all about Roxanne."

"No thank you."

"Roxanne?" questioned Solomon, gesturing for one of the standing maidservants to fetch him a bottle of wine. "Yes, do tell me about this Roxanne. I'd like to hear all about her."

"There's nothing ta say 'bout a brat."

Layla laughed amusedly, feeling Starrk slip his arm about her shoulders and pull her along the room toward the nearest doorway out. He was too exhausted to pay proper attention to his surroundings, but could hear the murmur of voices upon exiting the room.

He felt his wife's hand on his chest. "Stay home tomorrow."

"I have a meeting in the morning," he said drowsily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I can't."

"Please, Starrk," she said quietly. "You need to rest."

He shook his head, reluctant, holding her closer to his body.

"Don't argue with me, you will stay."

"I can't Layla," he said groggily. "You need to be safe."

"I am safe," she said as they turned down the hallway and reached the smaller staircase. "Watch your step." She looked up at him with a small smile on her face. "I'm safe here with your grandfather and Shinji and you. So, you don't have to work so hard that you come home every day exhausted."

Starrk smirked teasingly, reaching to turn her face toward his and kissed her forehead. "You worry too much."

"Of course I do," she stated hastily. "If I didn't do it, who would? You act as if there's no one around that actually cares what you do with yourself when I'm right here."

"Layla, please, not right now," he said as they reached the top floor, dropping his arm to his side and walking onward to the end of the hall. "I'm tired."

"Yes, right now!" she stated irately, dashing behind him. She grabbed him by the arm and turned him around. "You are gone all day—every day since we arrived at Penthurst Hall and you are never at breakfast, or lunch, or dinner because there is always a meeting or someone you need to take care of. And I understand you're thinking about our safety, but it isn't fair that I can't see you as often as I thought I would."

She curled both hands over his arms and looked him straight in the eyes. "I don't just want to see you on occasion. You are my husband."

Starrk frowned and cupped her face, tilting it upward. He kissed her lips gently, savoring the sweetened taste of tea lingering on them. "Hmm?" he said, drawing away from her a few centimeters. "What were you drinking?"

"Chamomile tea," she whispered, keeping her eyes closed. "I had a headache this afternoon. Lucie suggested it."

He leaned into her again, lips parting as his tongue slid along her lower lip. He felt her grip tightened against the fabric of his shirt. He dropped his hands to the curve of her back and pulled her hard against him.

She loosened her grip and pulled back, brown eyes opening to him. "Weren't you exhausted?"

"Yes," he breathed, holding her by the waist, "but you are too lovely to ignore."

"I am doing nothing," she said with a strain, detaching herself from him. "Let's go to bed, it's very late."

He smiled wryly, taking her by the hand and led her into their bedroom. He shut the doors with his foot and pulled her back into his arms, kissing her urgently.

Layla pushed him away gently. "It's late."

Starrk twined their fingers together and inched closer to her. "Let me make love to you."

A mischievous smile graced her lips and her arms wound about his neck. "Are you tempting me?"

There was an allure to her tone of voice that excited him and it was immediately obvious how the tables had turned.

"Yes," he started huskily, breathing in the faded smell of perfume, "and you me."

She pressed her lips to his gently. "Am I?"

"Yes."

She carefully pushed the jacket from his shoulders and reached to unbutton his vest. She kissed his chin and went lower, leaving light, fluttering kisses along the curve of his neck. He closed his eyes as her fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt, running her hands down his naked, toned flesh. Her kisses continued along his shoulder, open-mouthed and searing hot.

He took a deep breath, feeling the desire swell at the pit of his stomach that aroused him. He took her by the shoulders roughly and pulled her over his shoulder.

She squealed. "Starrk!"

He dropped her on the bed and crouched down to pull the heels from her feet. He took a seat beside her, reaching behind her to undo the buttons of her dress and pushed it off her body. She had to stand to let it pool at her feet.

"These dresses are far too complicated for lovemaking."

She grinned teasingly. "Is it not the least bit entertaining to slowly undress me?"

"Come closer, then, and turn around."

She did, placing her hands on her hips. "Go on."

There were many layers to her undergarments including her corset, bustle, and petticoat. It took a few minutes to get rid of every piece of clothes from her body, feeling every inch of her flesh as he did, and when he had finished, he leaned forward to kiss the curve of her back.

Layla inhaled deeply, relaxing the tension in her shoulders.

Starrk's hand slipped over her stomach, feeling the markings left behind by the tight corset and brought her onto his lap. He kissed the nape of her neck and she leaned her head into his shoulder, arching her back. He cupped her breasts, feeling her shudder and breathe heavily in response.

Her skin was warm and her body responsive to his touch. He tasted her, left tiny marks along the curve of her neck and let his teeth graze her shoulder, eliciting moans and arousing reactions. Her back arched against his back, her bottom constantly rubbing over his swelling erection. He almost couldn't stand the desire to take her, but he wanted to touch her, every inch of her if possible. Kiss her and claim her as his. She swore eternity to him, but somehow, his carnal desires needed to imprint himself on her. Force her body know his touch; respond only to it, and for her to be full of thoughts of him.

"Starrk," she groaned.

He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Spread your legs."

"Mmm."

She did as she was told.

Starrk's hand moved between them and his fingers slid into her hot, wet core. Her body trembled, eyes fluttering closed, scrunching up the fabric of his pants.

Slowly, he started moving his fingers in and out of her, feeling her insides constrict. She moaned aloud, slipping into the motion of his ministrations. Enjoying the gratifying waves of pleasure as they flitted through her body and he listened intently to the low tenor of her voice, moaning his name.

His desire for her increased by multitudes.

"Enjoying yourself?" he said huskily.

"Not yet," she whispered, removing his hand from her and stood up.

She turned and pushed him onto the bed, straddling him. She hastily unbuttoned his pants and slid them down with a bit of his aid, exposing him completely.

He watched her expression intently, feeling her slide his erection into her warmth. His fingers dug into her hips as he closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling. She was careful, slow, and quite knowledgeable of what made sex the most pleasurable. She paid attention to tiny details, knew the exact way to roll her hips, and how to press her hands against his chest. Her body curved in shapes he only saw within the privacy of their bedroom, her expression changed to one scrawled in pleasure, and the emotion she elicited from him with every moment, made him harder.

He could see she felt the difference. Her voice went up by a few octaves and she quickened her movements. Hands stretched across his chest, slowly moving to curve over his shoulders as he slid his hands up and down her sides.

Starrk sat up, burying his face in her shoulder and her arms wound around his neck. He kissed her in midst of passion, lips parted, their tongues melding together, and his fingers threaded in her messy auburn hair. Their bodies melted into each other, slowly and steadily becoming one, as he felt the pleasure building up.

He felt Layla's fingernails dig into his flesh as she neared orgasm. She was seconds from it. He felt the shudder of her body and the constriction of her muscles tighten around his erection tightly. The slight convulsions sent little streaks of electricity through her body, leaving her completely numb as she gripped onto him to allow him the pleasure of release.

He switched their positions, rolling her onto her back and watching her stretched across the bed, legs wrapped around his waist. He pumped into her hard, but slow, measuring himself between each moment, enjoying the final minutes before holding his release became too painful. Her expression twisted, pure agony. He was arousing her once more, brushing against her sensitive clit ever so slowly and throwing her back into her carnal passions.

She was twisting and turning underneath him until he was finally able to reach his climax with her. He was breathing heavily, body glistening with sweat, and heart hammering into his chest.

Starrk brushed the hair out of Layla's face and pecked her lips.

"Will you stay tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against hers as he pulled her into his arms. "Yes."

He would do anything for her.

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"My lord?"

Starrk groaned, feeling an awful pain in the back of his neck from having slept in a chair, and opened his eyes to see Lucie standing on the other side of his desk with a concerned look.

"What?"

"Forgive me for waking you," she apologized with a bow of her head. "But it must be quite uncomfortable to sleep behind that desk."

"You're right," he said, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'll be heading to my room. You and the others can have the rest of the day to yourselves."

"Are you certain?" she said, perplexed. "We still have many preparations left to complete before tomorrow evening's dinner."

"Whatever you have finished will do," he said dismissively, standing and making his way to the nearest doorway. "It's not that important a date."

"Goodnight milord."

"Goodnight Lucie," he said as he slipped out of the office and headed upstairs to the bedroom he once shared with his wife.

It was his only comfort in that house.

Somehow, it made him feel as though she was still there.

As he made it to the top floor, he sighed, remembering his dream so vividly. It was a memory. He practically promised Layla to spend an entire day with her. It never happened. He ended up not doing as she requested upon making an important discovery.

He never truly spend enough time with her.

He regretted it now.

* * *

Rovina sat with her eyes fixed to the darkened corner space within the moving carriage, avoiding eye contact with Elliot. They were making their first trip to Norwich, where Starrk was hosting an important soiree with members of both his family's beneficiary and the Aizen's. It was the joint celebration to something the Yamamoto family seemed to have been dreading the past three years after hearing of Layla Aizen's death. As the Duchess of Cambridge, she was obligated to attend, more so because of Elliot's ties to the Luisenbarn.

No words had been spoken between Rovina and Elliot throughout the entire ride until he finally broke the silence.

"You will act normal."

Rovina turned her face away, glancing out the parted drapes as the scenery unfolded before her eyes. She felt Acacia jolt beside her, feeling the emotion she should have felt upon hearing her husband's tone of voice.

"Do you understand?" he asked forcibly. "Answer me now."

"_Yes_," she hissed. "I understand."

She wasn't quite happy about the occasion. She thought about giving Starrk an earful when she saw him.

It just didn't seem fair.

It was too early.

* * *

_Starrk,_

_Do not marry if your heart is not in it. There is no reason for you to sacrifice so much for a job you are unwilling to do._

_Please, stop being so stubborn and listen to me._

_Be safe,_

_Rovina_

Starrk folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelop before dropping it back over his desk next to an unread letter from Robin Talbot.

The distant sounds of activity reached his ears. Lucie's booming voice echoed downstairs, ordering everyone to finish the final touches as the Aizen family had arrived. William helped Orihime prepare edible food to serve their guests and ordered a few chambermaids to ready bedrooms for his family and Aizen's.

He straightened out his tie after shooting one glance out the window, watching as the servants of his home appeared to properly greet their guests of honor. He would have to do the same and so, he turned on his heel and stepped out of his office. He took a nearby staircase to get to the first floor and found his way into the foyer where he found William escorting Sun-Sun, her cousins, Jaelle and the Harmon siblings into the largest sitting room where Lucie prepared biscuits and earl gray tea for their enjoyment.

Earl Aizen detached himself from the crowd upon seeing him and walked up to him with a gentile smile. "Have you been well, Starrk?"

"Yes," he said, extending his hand in greeting, "and you?"

Aizen returned the gesture. "Very good."

Starrk nodded his head curtly and waited for the earl to slip into the sitting room before following suit. He stood at the front of the door with a welcoming air, catching Sun-sun glaring at him from behind her open fan, which was something he would have fun getting used to over the years. Her displeasure couldn't have been any more obvious. They hadn't exchanged more than fifty words over the past three years.

He proceeded to welcome everyone into his humble home and offered them tea and biscuits.

Sun-sun and Mila Rose excused themselves to their bedrooms with Lucie in the lead. Halibel and Rye slipped into the garden to admire the decorations Orihime was helping fix. Szayel turned to wandering about the mansion, unwilling to sit by and have tea.

Roxanne left her seat, moving past Starrk while gesturing outside.

Starrk followed a few minutes after, noting Aizen and Jaelle were speaking in a hush. He ventured down the hallway where he met Roxanne.

"I can't believe you're going to marry Sun-sun!" she whispered furiously. "What would Layla—"

"Roxanne," he interjected calmly, waving a hand between them. "You hated Layla your entire life, my sullying her memory should make you ecstatic."

Roxanne growled in displeasure. "You don't understand!"

"No," he said quickly. "You don't understand. You cannot hate a woman that did everything in her power to help you without asking you for anything in return." He took a step back, prepared to turn on his heel and head down the opposite direction to his office. "Be happy, Roxanne. You have the life you always wanted, except yours is free of responsibility."

He had moved away a couple steps, but turned around to face her baffled expression. "Enjoy your stay."

"I care now!"

He shrugged his shoulders, murmuring, "I don't think she does," as he went, but the words went unheard by the tan skinned girl.

* * *

Rovina heaved a sigh as she took a glass of chardonnay from a passing waiter and watched as the guests of Penthurst Hall frolicked amongst themselves. Everyone in some form had been enjoying the private dinner party, except her.

She mingled with interesting individuals, forced a smile and acted as Elliot expected her to, but deep down inside, she couldn't. She dreaded what would become of the celebrated union.

As she combed through the crowd, searching for the nearest doorway out of the ballroom, she felt someone's hand on her shoulder.

Rovina turned to see Starrk.

"Come with me."

She glanced around the room. Nobody was watching.

He linked their arms and led her outside of the party, into a white vacant room with a grand piano at the center and rows of chairs.

"I cannot believe you!" she immediately cried, jerking her arm away.

"Rovina, please—"

"Don't!" She lifted her hand to silence him. "Layla may be dead and buried, but you are still very in love with her. And while I may not be aware of your intentions of taking up a second wife, but even I feel betrayed as her best friend."

"This marriage is purely convenience," he said evenly, "it means nothing to me. It has to be done."

"It does not!" the duchess stated, wearing her heart on her sleeve. "Be it for convenience or business, you do not have to do something that _has _to be done."

The words sunk in, she saw the emotion registered on his expression before he turned away, running a hand through his hair. He was just as conflicted.

He sank into the nearest seat, holding his head, and sighed heavily.

Rovina quietly took the chair beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Starrk," she said hesitantly. "I shouldn't have said that. You are in your right to do as you see fit, but…do you truly think this is your best option."

Starrk looked straight ahead, a mixture of emotions and thoughts of Layla begged him to reconsider.

"I eloped with Layla. My marriage to Sun-sun was prearranged. It's a delicate subject with unbelievable differences."

The redhead sat pensively, taking in his words and forcing her mind to understand what her feelings could not.

"I am so sorry. I was brash and insensitive. I should know better—"

"It's fine," he said, immediately changing the subject. "Your letters have been more infrequent lately. Has something happened?"

There was the slightest bit of hesitation in her eyes, but she smiled affably. It was an impeccable lie because even though she wanted somebody to save her, she couldn't cling to a man that needed saving himself.

"No, I just haven't had time to write as often," she said easily, placing both hands on her lap. "I will try to change that. I do enjoy our friendship."

He took her hand gently, an appreciative gesture, and placed his other atop it as he looked at her directly. "Thank you, Rovina," he said soothingly, "for everything you have done and are trying to do. But I have made my choice and am not changing my mind."

Rovina nodded slowly, dropping her eyes to their hands. "I do hope it is the right one."

She felt fearful beneath his gaze. Thoughts raced through her mind. What if her collar slipped an inch lower—would he see the imprint of Elliot's abuse wrapped firmly around her neck? What would happen if he saw the damage her body endured? Would he care enough to put a stop to it…?

"If there is anything you need, come to me," said Starrk. "I would do anything for you."

She smiled gently. "I truly appreciate the gesture, but I am happy where I am, you needn't worry about me."

…Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to ask him for help. It was nearly impossible to form a sentence.

She couldn't open her mouth to save herself and it was killing her.

"We should return to the party, else people might start speculating."

Starrk nodded, dropping her hand and stood, excusing himself quickly before departing.

Rovina decided to linger in the music room, pacing about and found her eyes focusing on the grand piano. She imagined Layla sitting on the tiny bench with Starrk at her side, coaching him into playing the correct keys to create a beautiful melody. She remembered Starrk speaking of his memories of his wife fondly.

It was too obvious he loved her still, so she wished he hadn't made the decision to marry Sun-sun that evening.

She sighed deeply, turning her back toward the piano.

Rovina approached Starrk after Layla's death. If she recalled the exact moment, she remembered those days as her last chance at freedom. The moment Elliot asked her to return to Cambridge, her heart sank into her stomach and it felt like the end of the world. She had known her husband's decision meant bad news. She could feel it in her bones, but she willingly obeyed as the good wife, too heartbroken to remain in London.

Starrk, who refused to leave Penthurst Hall to pay his respects to his wife's grave, had broken her heart. Rovina rushed to Norfolk without telling a soul to find him as she expected.

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A thin woman in a collared dark gown answered the door to Penthurst Hall. "How may I help you?"

"I wish to see Viscount Lisle," Rovina said hastily, taking deep breaths to regain her breath after sprinting up the staircase. "Tell him it's the Duchess of Cambridge."

"Ah, your grace," the woman said honorably, curtsying. "Excuse my rudeness; I am Lucie, the housekeeper."

The woman pushed open the doors wide, exposing the antique-looking foyer to the duchess, and swept her arm before her. "Please, your grace, follow me. I will take you to the sitting—"

"I'll take her upstairs," a light, determined voice interjected.

Rovina glanced over Lucie's shoulder to see a petite blond in a feathering dress, looking rather annoyed.

"It's good to see you, Lilynette."

Lilynette gestured toward the stairway and the duchess followed suit, jogging a bit to catch up to the younger girl's stride.

"How is he?" Rovina asked worriedly. "He wasn't at the service or the burial."

"Bad," answered Lilynette. "He's done nothing but stay in bed all day and night, not greeting guests and scarcely eating. He's being a fool and a coward."

The girl's words were harsh.

"Has he attempted to visit?"

"The Duke of Norwich asked him to visit, but he has refused. Neliel claims it's his way of mourning, but sleeping with your dead wife's favorite dress in a room that smell like her pricey French perfume is bordering psychotic."

"I thought I asked you to call me grandfather."

Ahead of them, an older gentleman in a clean-cut suit exited the last room in the hallway, looking incredibly stressed while sounding jokingly. He looked from the tiny girl to the duchess, who he greeted appropriately upon realizing she was, indeed, the Duchess of Cambridge.

Lilynette ushered Rovina into the room and immediately, a soft smell filled her nostrils and the image it evoked was definitely Layla.

"Starrk, the Duchess of Cambridge is here to see you."

They were met with silence.

Lilynette glanced up at Rovina. "I don't know what to do anymore."

The duchess placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry, dear."

Within seconds, Lilynette and the Duke of Norwich left the bedroom and she stepped closer to the bed to see the Viscount Lisle sprawled underneath heavy blankets with his eyes screwed shut. There was a scarlet dress lain out at his side and Rovina had to swallow her peace and grieving as she did what she felt someone needed to do.

"Have you absolutely no shame, viscount?" she berated, placing both hands on her hips. "Penthurst Hall is not your prison. You have every right to visit your wife's tombstone and pay your respects. How can you possibly expect Layla to rest if her own husband is unwilling to say goodbye?"

His eyes opened to mere slits, blinded by the flood of light from the drawn curtains. She could see the stubble of his beard and the dark circles underneath his eyes. He was depressingly unkempt.

"I do not want her to rest," he muttered in contempt. "I want her to be here with me and that child."

His words were too much to bear without having to take another deep breath.

"Death has taken her and your unborn child. There is nothing left for anyone of us to do, but properly pay our respects and hope that it is enough."

"Death did not take Layla," he said bitterly. "Layla was taken by man. It was a sinful act of murder and it was inflicted on one underserving of such a fate. She did nothing wrong. She did not deserve to die."

Rovina shut her eyes tightly, pushing back tears and emotion. "Please, viscount, understand we all feel the same sadness. Layla was loved, truly loved by everyone she had met and it pained everyone. Probably not as much as you, but you cannot lay here and expect her to return from the dead. She is gone. You will not see her again."

His eyes seemed to have turned glassy as her words sunk in.

"…Were you the one that asked her to leave?" he started slowly. "Did you tell her that it would be in her best interests to leave Penthurst Hall with the protection of _one _guard? Were you the one who promised to spend one day with her without fail?"

"No."

Her voice was quiet and weak.

"As I did that and much more, I cannot face her."

He felt guilty.

"But she loved you. She loved you more than anything. She—" Rovina quickly scrambled through her handbag, pulling out a crumpled letter from inside and unfolding it for him. "Read this. She would hate you if you chose to stay inside this room without every bringing her flowers."

"She hated flowers," he said, avoiding the familiar script on the open letter.

"Every woman at least appreciates flowers. Besides, it's customary to leave flowers to your loved ones to show that you do remember them and have loved them. It is a beautiful gesture and you're depriving your wife of it because you can't seem to accept that she truly is gone. Don't do her wrong."

Starrk stayed completely still and silent, eyes staring directly at the upright letter by his face. He could make out a few words from the private correspondence, but the longer he focused, the more he put the words together.

_Every day is beautiful at Penthurst Hall. The gardens are beautiful, filled with camellias and roses of every color. There are even flowers I have never seen before, except in the elaborate bouquets. _

_I've had the housekeeper help me pick a few and fill the house with them._

He took the letter suddenly as Rovina found a seat at the foot of the bed, glancing over her shoulder to see him sit up, eyes alert.

"Can I read this?"

"I have no qualms."

…_She is also teaching me how to arrange flowers. Miss Lucie is quite talented!_

He skimmed through the remainder of the writing, taking the first page from the other three and left it on the bed, continuing the rest.

Layla wrote about everything and always found a way to mention him in writing.

_Starrk is wonderful. He has been since we arrived to Penthurst Hall and while he may be extremely busy, it's nothing we can't work out. And I love him. He is my only weakness, but that will be our secret, Rovina._

She talked of their love so simply and purely. She put her heart in paper, expressed her emotions so freely he felt his chest throb in trepidation.

But as he skimmed through the letter, he read something that greatly upset him. He lifted his eyes to the back of Rovina's head, eyebrows knitted together.

"…She told you?" he said slowly. "You knew about her pregnancy."

Rovina nodded slowly, turning her body to face him. "Yes, I knew," she said. "She sent me the letter two months prior when she was certain."

He dropped his hands on his lap, letting his mind wander for a short minute before speaking once again. "Was she scared?"

"Terrified," she replied truthfully.

Starrk looked down to the letter.

…_I love him. I love this child. But I am scared I cannot be there for both. I am scared for this child. I don't know if it is right to have a child when our world is so dangerous. What if I cannot protect this child?_

_I am terrified. I cannot even bring myself to tell Starrk. _

_But I cannot think this way. I love them and I must do everything in my power to create a safe haven for them._

He kicked the blankets from his feet and rushed straight into the next room without another word.

Rovina bolted to her feet. "Viscount!"

He pushed the door open as she rounded the corner of the bed. "I need time and camellias."

"Camellias?"

"Red camellias."

"I'll head downstairs and ask Miss Lucie."

"Thank you."

Rovina waited for the door to close before smiling brightly and rushing straight out the door, finding both Lilynette and the Duke of Norwich standing with their ears pressed to the door.

"Were you eavesdropping?" she asked baffled.

"Do not accuse us of something so discourteous," defended Solomon Yamamoto, straightening out his back and placing his cane in front of them. "That would make us insensitive in a time when our resident viscount needs our support the most."

_Solomon is truly an enchanting man, though it would be best for any individual to never believe a word that comes out of his mouth._

Rovina remembered Layla once describing Solomon Yamamoto as such and smiled sheepishly in response. "Sorry…"

"Oh, it's nothing for you to fret over Mrs. Stephenson, everyone makes guiltless accusations," he said easily, rolling his shoulders before grinning. "Now, have you managed upon a miracle and need some assistance?"

"Yes!" she said quickly. "The viscount may be willing to visit Layla's grave now and I need red camellias."

"Lilynette," he called kindly, "go assist your brother. I will bring Mrs. Stephenson to Lucie, who has preserved many flowers since the end of summer. Come."

Lilynette slipped into the bedroom after Rovina rushed off with Solomon and bore witness to what everyone else was unable to do. She found the letter on the bed and knew immediately, that the words written within it were the reason for her older brother's sudden change of heart, and she finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"_Ow!"_

The small blond approached the door, pulling it open to find Starrk bent over a basin with a handkerchief on his cheek and a straight razor in his left hand.

"Need help?" she asked, drawing his attention. "You're a mess."

She watched him leave the straight razor on the tiny counter and sink into the nearest chair.

"I'll get the chambermaid to run you a bath," she said easily, as she made her way toward the counter to pick up a mug of shaving soap and the wet brush. "I'm not letting you leave the house smelling like that. It's disgusting."

Starrk turned away, abashed. "Stop talking now."

"You're supposed to be a gentleman!" she continued, raising her voice. "Gentlemen are supposed to smell fantastic! You smell like yesterday's fish dinner. Layla wouldn't come within a meter of you—"

"Lilynette!"

The petite girl smirked victoriously and dabbed the wet brush into the soap. "Okay, tilt your face that way."

It wasn't the first time she had done this for her brother. So she was more or less skilled in the art of shaving, thought it might go against a woman's propriety (or be to her benefit). Even if it was, she didn't care so long as she could do something for Starrk as he had done everything for her throughout her life.

. . . .

Starrk stared at his wife's tombstone, decorated in white lilies, and it felt excruciating to stand before it to acknowledge reality.

Rovina stood a few feet away, allowing him the proper amount of privacy while looking equally grim. The trip from Norfolk to the countryside church had been lengthy, but Starrk willingly made the effort and with little trouble found her tomb. There were plenty other graves cluttered in flowers, but as she watched him saunter through aisles of tombstones, not once looking down to the engraved name, he found Layla's final resting place covered in white.

He crouched down, feeling the emptiness of loss, and placed a bouquet of red camellias amongst a flood of white. He said his prayers and whispered his affections to the body lying six-feet under with a tug at his chest and sadness without restraint. Even after straightening out, he continued staring at the words written there—be_loved daughter_, it said, no mention of her marriage.

It was best to not remember the immorality of their elopement.

Starrk glanced over his shoulder to see a tearful Rovina and gestured her closer.

The redhead quietly made the trip and stopped at his side.

"Thank you, Rovina," he said after a lengthy silence.

Rovina felt a tear roll down her cheek. "It was no problem at all."

They heard the sound of hooves and a halting carriage.

Starrk turned to the gravel path stretching over a slight slope to see the carriage door push open and a woman with golden curls emerge. His eyes followed the pathway to the curving road leading out of the Aizen's countryside home.

"Gwyneth Stanton," whispered Rovina, eyeing the young woman.

She was thin and delicate looking, like a China doll, but he couldn't make out her features.

"…If I'm not mistaken, that must be Jasper Stanton inside the carriage."

"You have a good eye," Starrk commented.

"No, they are just very blond."

"We should go," he said, patting her shoulder and stepping ahead of her. "I already paid my respects."

"Yes, of course."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Rovina heaved a sigh and slipped back into the gala, hearing Starrk's voice from the front of the room after the orchestra had been silenced. Murmurs echoed in every direction she took as she searched for her husband, who she found flirting with a raven-haired woman dressed in a dark green gown.

She took a shuddering breath, ambling down a different direction to find a glass of chardonnay. She needed something to help relax the tension in her body or ease her thoughts. She felt something she thought she wouldn't feel: the villainous sting of jealousy as it snaked its way around her emotions and squeezed them out.

"…and we will marry spring next year."

She halted suddenly, looking forward to Starrk and his dark-haired fiancée, who stared at the crowd before her behind a feathered fan in complete discomfort.

_"I have a horrible feeling about this."_

_"First the youngest, now the oldest. Has he no shame?"_

_"This won't end well."_

Starrk left Sun-sun's side as the gossip overflowed and the music started playing. Aizen was speaking to a few members of his beneficiary with Luisenbarn at his side acting like old, reacquainted friends.

"Champagne?"

She turned around to see a waiter at her side and she quickly took a glass. "Thank you."

Taking a sip of the sparkling wine, she realized something felt incredibly wrong, like a bad omen, but at the same time, it seemed like everything was finally coming together.

Rovina spotted her husband surreptitiously ushering the unknown woman into the hallway, glancing over his shoulder. And a sudden thought occurred to her.

She abandoned her glass on some nearby tabletop and sprinted straight for the exit, picking up her skirts to quicken her step. It wasn't long before someone in her party had spotted her and the fear factor set in.

. . . .

Rovina slumped against the wall breathing heavily after running all around Penthurst Hall and held a hand to her heaving chest. Her eyes flitted through the large room as she tugged on her collar, letting the light of the fireplace show the dark bruising around her neck.

"Duchess?"

She recognized that voice and jerked toward the sound, eyes widening at the sight of Jūshirō Ukitake entering the room.

His eyebrows knitted in concern as he took a step closer to her and watched as her hands flew to cover the bruising around her neck. But it had been too late. He saw them and the emotion spread over his previously surprised expression.

"How are you here?" she asked hastily.

"Are you hurt?"

He crossed the distance between them and reached out to touch her. She flinched instinctively, eyes squinting as her body had been accustomed to reacting that way after the abuse Elliot put her through.

"No, I'm fine, but why are you here? I—"

"I was invited by the duke, but you're changing the subject," he said quickly, voice full of concern.

"You cannot ask that sort of question of a lady!"

"Who is hurting you?" he said in a hushed voice, clasping his hands over his arms. "Tell me."

She squirmed free of his hold and moved away, straightening her collar. "Nobody is hurting me, and this isn't your concern. We haven't spoken in months."

"You are no longer living in your London home; I cannot reach you any other way."

"Please, we cannot be seen here alone—"

The door opened noisily and from it emerged Elliot Stephenson with Acacia behind him staring at her feet guiltily.

Her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach where her emotions fell in shambles. It was probably the worst time to have been inside a private room with a close friend, who she inadvertently severed her ties with, by their lonesome. And it wasn't any man. He was the one Elliot disliked the most.

The scene was horrible.

Jūshirō dropped his arms back to his side, uttering an apology.

Elliot smiled sweetly. "Rovina, dear, I've been looking for you all night," he started sweetly. "Is this where you've been?"

"I'm sorry," Rovina said quietly, shooting a fearful glance toward her husband and then looked fleetingly at Jūshirō. "Please excuse me, sir, I must go."

Acacia scrambled out of the room.

"I will be waiting outside, Rovina. We must return to Thornepike Manor _immediately_."

Elliot stepped out of the room, letting the door shut behind him.

Rovina attempted to rush after her husband, but felt Jūshirō's hand wrap around her arm, stopping her.

"Were you invited to the Duke and Duchess of Warwick's next weekend?" he asked hastily, lowering his voice.

"Y-yes."

He let her go and she immediately rushed out of the room, realizing the moment of her hesitation. But the second she saw Elliot's expression in the hallway, she simply couldn't stand the fear threatening to be the end of her.

"It's not what you think."

He grabbed her roughly by the elbow. "Nothing truly is what I think. Not in your world, at least."

* * *

**_Thanks to_**_: rainy-lullaby, Starfire8001 and Brunette Geek for reviewing the previous chapter._

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

I prepared a large chapter to kick off the start of Part II, so I hope it was a satisfactory read.

There are memories in this chapter as well as those that follow and pray everyone was able to distinguish them properly without me having to italicize the entire block of text. I do not feel inclined to italicize. Getting in and out of a memory will be separated by ten periods.

Between writing this and later editing it, many changes happened. Content will differ from what I initially planned, but the basic idea will be present. I have not changed the plot, though it's not really expressed until the end of the following chapter. Consider this an introduction as all first chapters tend to be. Also, this takes place three years after Layla's death. I thought it was a stupid decision at first, but after some deep consideration, it would be of better use than having gone through a one year jump as planned. So, everyone is a lot older than previously expected. hehe.

There will be a preview of chapter two up in my livejournal by the time this is posted.

Because my time was limited throughout September/October due to school and rl business, I have not completed _Camellia _as planned and thus will not be posting weekly. Instead, I will be posting biweekly. So, I'll see you on the 19th!

Thank you for reading! :D


	43. The Duchess of Warwick

[ II. **Camellia **]

Two: _**The Duchess of Warwick**_

_Curls of vibrant shades of gold_

_Eyes that speak the words you fear the most_

_The story that was never told_

_About the girl that is your ghost,_

_Who with sensuous kisses she has consoled_

_The heart you can no longer hold_

* * *

Acacia gently dabbed a sanitized handkerchief over the corner of her mistress' forehead as fresh blood oozed out of the seemingly insignificant cut. When the old bruises progressively faded after Rovina's skin had been black, purple, and covered in tiny bumps for weeks, things took a turn for the worst in the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge's first morning in the outskirts of Warwickshire.

Rovina barely remembered the premise of the argument. She recalled it in blurry fragments and how difficult it was in setting aside her pride to stay silent long enough to avoid the confrontation. Obviously, she still had a little fight in her and it infuriated her husband. The fight had been so explosive. Elliot pushed her roughly and she fell backward, hitting the corner of her head on the edge of the table. It knocked her unconscious for a few hours, stalling their departure from the inn.

"Can we hide it?"

The maid finished cleaning off the blood. "I will restyle your hair and pull it over the wound. Nobody will see it."

"And the bruises?" asked Rovina carefully.

"We have your grandmother's pearls. You will not have to worry much about your face; the mask will cover the rest."

Secretly, she hoped she was allowed to get through the evening without angering her husband. She wanted to find a way to enjoy the masquerade ball. Everyone she knew and even people she didn't had been invited to the Duchess of Warwick's winter gala (most of them members of the Three Families and their beneficiary), even though it been introduced as a private party.

If she smiled brightly and acted as she would in any party, things might go swimmingly.

"It is time, we should have you dressed," said Acacia gently, dropping her hands on her lap and looking to her mistress sympathetically. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The duchess rose from her seat and watched as Acacia stepped in front of an open trunk to pull out an elaborate emerald gown. The woman carefully set it over the mattress and made her way to the redhead to begin readjusting her corset.

Rovina sucked in a breath, feeling the corset tighten with every harsh tug Acacia gave, and she let the bits of pain subside along with pieces of dreadful recollection. She shut her eyes tightly, craning her neck back as memories of that morning flooded into her head. There had been so much screaming. It echoed beyond the walls of her bedroom. The display was far too humiliating to recount, yet she did. She wished she remembered the exact exchange between them because then, she could know what she had done wrong. She felt a need to correct the aspects of her personality that infuriated Elliot.

If she weren't so prideful and argumentative, Elliot would not raise his hand to her. If she was passive and understanding, so that the world wouldn't selfishly revolve around her, he might come to truly love her.

"…Do you think he loves me?"

The pink-face woman lifted her gaze to the back of her mistress' perfectly styled hair. "Mistress?"

"Do you think Elliot truly loves me?" she repeated uncertainly.

Acacia averted her eyes, skillfully tying ribbons and tugging up the bustle to fit underneath her corset. It was a difficult question to answer. The older maid didn't feel it was her place to be honest.

'I—"

"Forget it, Acacia," dismissed Rovina. "I shouldn't have asked you to lie."

* * *

Roxanne stood outside, holding a fur shawl drawn around her naked shoulders dressed in a gold dress. Bright green eyes stared beyond the snow-coated balcony behind a gold-trimmed mask with curving feathers and sparkling material.

The classical violins and complimentary piano permeated beyond Willowside Castle's hall. The latest gossip was shared and most of the female guests had plenty to say about the Duchess of Warwick, who had been relatively unknown apart from her name. She was a conundrum. Everyone swarmed her to try to get a word in and later claimed she was incredibly charming.

Roxanne wouldn't know. She only greeted the blond woman when she appeared in a stellar white gown and matching mask to greet the Aizen party and introduce her older brother, Jasper. Since she didn't want to stroll the ballroom with her mother the entire night, she decided to explore the grounds after hearing the garden was landscaped to artistic perfection.

It certainly seemed like it. There were tall, snow-coated hedges perfectly aligned to create an enormous labyrinth. From her standpoint on the second floor of Willowside Castle, she clearly spotted the white roofs situated in various areas inside the hedge maze. Each tiny gazebo was decorated in small glowing orbs lighting the night.

The sky beyond the panoramic view had turned a hazy gray, dotted clouds darkening as the hours continued. Stars were beginning to show.

A burst of giggles sounded as the balcony door was pushed open.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

A rich baritone addressed her and she was instantly filled with familiarity.

Roxanne was almost too nervous to turn after putting a face to the man asking for permission to join her within the empty balcony. She took an easy breath and turned to face the handsome gentleman standing at the door. Though he wore a long, half-mask resembling the beak of a bird shielding the better half of his face, she could easily tell that it was Elliot Stephenson stepping closer to her side.

Elliot's thin lips curved as he leaned into the railing, blue eyes staring down to her. "You have not answered my question."

"I do doubt I must," she said, voice teasing and elegant. "You have invited yourself."

It took many tiring months to get used to speaking eloquently enough to please her abrasive instructors, but it paid off. She now sounded like she belonged among noble circles.

He smiled pleasantly. "Forgive me, miss, I am quite the impatient man."

She mirrored his grin. "Oh I know, your grace."

She felt anxious as he quietly took in the steady gaze beyond the decorative mask hiding her face.

"I do know you, do I not?" he asked quietly.

"We are very well acquainted."

His smile twitched upward as he realized her identity. It was difficult to forget the soft, sultriness of her voice, especially when it was as alluring as ever.

"Roxanne," he said gently, reaching to lift her face by the chin. "In such clothes, in quite a manner, I am amazed."

"It has been three long years, a fitting time frame for a person to change," she replied smoothly. "I do believe you have gotten much more handsome, your grace"

"Hmm, I thought you were of gypsy blood."

"Well, it was surprisingly pure," she said smartly. "You see my real mother so happened to be Melena Forsyth. We were quite recently reunited, you must have heard."

"Oh yes, Melena Forsyth," he repeated in acknowledgement. "Is she the redhead that accompanies Earl Aizen?"

"Yes."

"I hear she is his newest fiancée."

"No, she is only a close acquaintance."

Elliot dropped his hand slightly, letting his fingers curl between her loose black tresses.

Roxanne shuddered, unable to turn away. She would be lying were she to say she did not desire the man. It had been a little over a year since she last spent the night with him and it was difficult to forget. He might not have been touching her directly, but she clearly felt the heat of his palm reaching the bits of naked skin hiding underneath a fur shawl.

"—so don't you dare!" a soft, berating voice said quickly.

"There are certain boundaries you need to respect, damnit!" a hushed male tone rebuked harshly.

Elliot dropped his arm to his side, eyes venturing far behind Roxanne as she turned to find the source of those voices. The two found them a few meters away where the balcony floor curved into the other side.

A tall blond man wearing a plain black and white mask stood before an equally golden-haired woman dressed all in white.

"The Duchess of Warwick and Baron Lipton, it seems," uttered Elliot, disinterested.

The Stanton siblings continued arguing in hushed voices, going back and forth with the same subject like an endless tug of war. There was no telling what exactly it was, but it was obvious that they were both very angry at each other.

And suddenly, a loud snap was heard as Gwyneth Stanton's hand made contact with Jasper Stanton's cheek.

"How embarrassing," murmured Roxanne, glancing at Elliot. "We should return indoors before they see us."

He nodded in agreement. "Or better," he said, moving close to whisper into her ear. "We could head upstairs so I can properly ravish you."

Her smile widened. "That sounds like a wonderful idea."

* * *

It had been a bit over two hours since his party first arrived and Starrk was just as tired as he was when he first set foot within the extravagant foyer of Willowside Castle. Neliel and Nnoitra had slipped into the center of festivities, the male interested in drinking as much wine as necessary to find some enjoyment in the party and the young woman in search of the Duchess of Cambridge. Everyone within the Three Families was present, save a few exceptions, which included Grimmjow, Ulquiorra and Lilynette from the Luisenbarn and Sun-Sun, Halibel, Mila Rose, and Rye from the Aizen. Yamamoto only sent his grandsons Ukitake and Kyoraku. Their combined beneficiary singlehandedly filled the gargantuan ballroom.

"Starrk."

He turned immediately to face Aizen at his side. "Yes?"

Aizen shifted his attention toward the crowd before them, cautiously pointing out the golden haired Duchess of Warwick as she sauntered about the ballroom a bit distressed.

"Have you properly greeted the duchess? She is a great part of my beneficiary and will soon be a part of yours," Aizen said simply. "As you know, she and her brother are the current heads of a famous drug ring."

"Excuse me," he said quietly, striding toward the woman.

He understood the meaning of Aizen's entanglement with the Stanton children as they were worth quite a bit of money each, and it wasn't because they were the current leaders of a known cartel. Groups specializing in human trafficking often have both at the top of their list; they would go for larger bids if they were ever entered in a Luisenbarn auction house. They were almost on par with the worth of a single member of the Three Families.

"Duchess," he called when she was in earshot.

The woman stopped suddenly, glancing in his direction before stopping directly before him. "Oh, you're the new Duke of Norwich, aren't you?"

"Starrk," he introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you, duchess."

She smiled graciously. "Gwyneth."

* * *

Rovina attempted to slip by crowds of people unnoticed behind a simple feathered fan. It was almost too easy to avoid the usual crowds she mingled in as she crossed many familiar faces hidden behind expensive masquerade masks. She finally made a stop by a long table filled with delicious looking finger food and reached over to take a tall glass of merlot.

This would be her third glass that evening and she was just feeling the right amount of tipsy. At times like this, she would have had the entire room laughing with one of her clever jokes or she might have been hearing the most recent gossip from the best sources. But when she tried approaching Irene Foster, daughter of a powerful lord, who had a knack of being in the right places at the right times, she felt so out of place.

"Rovina?"

She jerked out of a reverie, body turning sideway to meet the longhaired man hiding caring eyes behind a rust-colored mask.

"Ah."

Her breath caught in her throat, wine sloshing inside her glass, and remembered the short moment they had spent together in that dark room. She specifically remembered the punishment Elliot deemed necessary after they made a swift return home because he believed she had been unfaithful by speaking to him.

The sudden meeting felt awkward and she couldn't help as a wave of self-consciousness struck her cold. Her eyes swiftly searched the room for any sign of her husband only to see the Duke of Norwich and the Duchess of Warwick sharing a waltz in the center of the ballroom. Elliot was nowhere to be seen.

Regardless, her heart plummeted into her stomach.

"How have you been?" he asked quietly, standing at her side so casually people might not notice them speaking.

"I have been well, my lord," she replied graciously, attempting a smile. "I do hope you have been just as right."

He nodded, voice lowering. "You have not written your grace. It has been too long."

Blue eyes snapped to him, ablaze, as her stomach churned with trepidation. "I have to respect my husband!" she said snappishly, trying hard to keep her voice from being carried off by the acoustics. "Our meetings were far from respectful. I had no choice but to put an end to it. You must understand!"

Jūshirō lowered his head, lips twitching upward to force a smile. He averted his gaze. "I only wish to be your friend, your grace. That is my only intention."

Her lips trembled, the surge of emotion was too grand for her to handle, and with a furious growl, she stomped right past the kind man and out the nearest ballroom exit.

Jūshirō rushed after her, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the rest of Willowside Castle's guests, feeling he might have offended the duchess. He made a mistake.

"Your grace!" he called as they slipped into the desolate hallway. "Forgive me if I have offended you. I don't want to hurt you."

Rovina turned around once they were alone, jerking the mask from her face to show the glassy surface of her eyes. She had turned the corner down the long hallway so her back was now facing a stretch of staircases.

"You could not hurt me, my lord, and I trust you are not reason for this pitiful display." She carefully wiped away the tears beginning to spill, catching the warm liquid on her gloves.

Jūshirō removed his mask, pocketing it immediately as he stepped closer to her. "Who hurt you?"

"Life has ailed me and I no longer feel so strong."

He carefully took her hands, curling his fingers underneath her palm, and looked at her closely. "You are Rovina Stephenson, Duchess of Cambridge, and you _are_ strong."

As kind as his words were, she couldn't help but deny them with a shake of her head as tears dripped down her cheeks. She gently tugged her hands free and continued drying her eyes to keep the makeup from running and revealing the horrendous bruises.

"You do not understand my lord. I am not the same, so I cannot be your friend."

* * *

"It is so kind of you to ask me out to dance," said the Duchess of Warwick in her trademark musical voice. "Everyone else is so very wary of my presence."

"Many of your guests must be lacking in manners," replied Starrk amicably.

A tiny smile spread along her lips as she shifted against his hold. The orchestra was a mere minute from reaching the conclusion of their melody as the blur of colors clouded his vision. He couldn't see beyond the elaborate masks and the swirling dresses. It was hard to tell anyone apart. He felt his presence was a tad bit tiresome. There were plenty other things to do than parade himself to fix his semi-damaged reputation. His elopement with Layla did have its consequences, but he accepted them knowing only happiness awaited him. He didn't care for his reputation.

Now, he had no choice. He needed to be reputable because he was the Duke of Norwich and the future head of the Luisenbarn family.

"I do wish this gathering does turn out to be a success," she said, heaving a sigh, dramatically. "I would be utterly devastated if it were not. I do not think I will be able to pick myself off the ground."

"That much?"

"_Utterly devastated!_" she said with a ring of laughter.

He smiled.

The Duchess of Warwick was undeniably quirky and beyond the elegant white mask were a set of fathomless brown orbs. They were a lighter shade if one looked closely and he had nothing to do but stare deep into them as they shared a first dance.

There was more to their sudden exchange, something he couldn't quite understand. As peculiar as Gwyneth seemed with all her dramatics and concerns over a well-attended (seemingly successful) three-day gala, she was wonderfully refreshing. It had been too long since he felt comfortable around another woman since his viscountess.

Once the waltz came to its conclusion, Starrk took Gwyneth's hand and kissed the upside. "It was a pleasure."

Gwyneth smiled gracefully, twisting her upper body a slight. "It was, but now I am doomed to wander the hall in search for another dance partner. Perhaps my husband will do me the favor…"

She turned her face as they found a place in the sidelines of the dancing area and caught sight of her husband, who was clad in white with a similar mask. He was talking to a slender, lithe young woman in an emerald dress and a translucent mask, whose hand he had taken into his just as the orchestra prepared to begin their next piece.

Her attention snapped back to Starrk with an impish frown. "Horrid man has already asked another to dance," she said with playful disdain. "I suppose I should now take a breather. My feet are awfully tired, these shoes are the devil."

She lifted her leg slightly to show him the heels.

"Ah, French import," murmured Starrk. "They seemed awfully painful."

"Oh! How did you know?"

"My late wife loved shoes of all sorts. French and Italian imports were her favorites."

She twisted her lips. "A woman with fabulous taste is hard to come by." She inclined her head slightly. "You have my condolences, Starrk."

"It was too long ago," he said dismissively.

Gwyneth smiled all the time, it seemed. There was not a moment the joy disappeared from her half-hidden face. She was a jolly woman that openly expressed her exuberance. It felt so natural.

"I do wonder why the others are so wary of you, Gwyneth."

"Oh?" she sounded curious. "Have you reason otherwise?"

"You are quite the interesting woman."

Denying his attraction to the Duchess of Warwick was becoming tiresome. She was a tall, slender woman with alabaster skin and a lasciviously curved body that had been beautifully complimented by the white gown and long ringlets of golden hair. He may have only greeted her briefly upon entering Willowside Castle, but he was quick to find her among the throng of colorful guests on the arm of her husband. For many instances, it seemed she had seen him too.

When Aizen asked him to introduce himself to the duchess, he had already formed the thought in his mind. He searched the crowds for her throughout his stay, not once feeling guilty about coveting a married woman. It should have been against his morals but they were unnecessary. What good were they for his occupation?

Even her quirkiness was attractive.

Gwyneth grinned, eyes glinting mischievously behind her mask. "Coincidentally," she started, lowering her voice to a mere whisper as she brushed her fingers along his forearm, "I also find you quite interesting."

The tension was building.

"Ah, dearest duchess!"

Gwyneth turned suddenly to face a plump woman in a bright gold dress ambling through the crowd to reach her. She dropped her hand back to her side. "Mrs. Fowler!" she said kindly. "I am so very happy you have decided to attend!"

"Excuse me," Starrk said, drawing her attention quickly before striding away.

She watched him leave, shoulders dropping for a mere second. She then turned to speak to one of her prized companion about what they had done before the date of her gala.

* * *

Roxanne's back hit the nearest wall in the eerily darkened hallway leading to her assigned bedchamber. Elliot's body pressed hard against hers and his lips met with hers hungrily. It had been too long since she had felt the satisfaction of raw physical attraction. The feelings it evoked in her were far better than the effects of any drug and it was something she honestly could not live without. The addiction was too severe to kick, so she feverishly proceeded to push against Elliot as her needs turned voracious and seemingly insatiable. She was glad to notice that she had not been the only one deprived of physicality.

Elliot seemed to be struggling against his own vast desires to feel the touch of a real woman. She had known for as long as she had been paid for her services that the Duchess of Cambridge was a frigid bedmate and unbelievably difficult to please. Elliot had never truly been attracted to her since before their wedding night. She was a beautiful, astonishingly so, but she was not the sort of woman he wanted to marry. She was too proper and too attuned with the belief of love that it made their union difficult. She was incredibly snappy and unattractively defensive; he always lost the will to sleep in the same bed as she. He eventually wanted nothing to do with her and that's when he decided to come to a rumored gypsy girl offering her services as a bedmate.

Roxanne had been a risk, but she had come so well recommended the attraction and temptation clashed. He only needed one glance to find her body marvelously curved and taut, with vibrant green eyes that contrasted perfectly with the tanned shade of her skin. Her hair was long and lusciously black. She dressed in bright colors with tight fitting dresses made of fine cloths and had a way of dancing that ensnared the senses—dancers had a remarkable allure to him.

It was difficult to keep his hands off her body, though he did not resist that temptation. He felt the curves of her figure molded by the tightly bound corset and pushed hard against the flimsy fabric of her gold dress to feel the length of her legs. She sighed heavily as the mask fell from his face and clattered to the ground. His lips suckled on the tender spots of her neck and she gripped onto his shoulders as the pleasure rippled through her abdomen.

She bit down on her bottom lip as a moan threatened to spill in the heat of their passion, but just as she prepared to yield to temptation, the sound of footsteps reached her ears.

Roxanne's blood ran cold when she realized both their masks had been discarded somewhere beneath their feet. Their identities would be discovered and the scandal would very much destroy any hope she had of being presented into society next year. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him away slightly, drawing his attention to whoever was rounding the corner into the dark hallway.

A candle's glow touched upon the carpeted floors, slowly flooding the hallway, and the Duke of Cambridge quickly detached himself from her. He bent over, picked up his mask, tied it over his face, and marched off without another word to her, as a tall, gaunt figure appeared holding in his hand a candleholder that lit the entire way.

Roxanne straightened out immediately, turning her face away, as she fixed her disheveled dress.

She had seen that man before. The eldest Stanton, Baron Lipton, who had been arguing with his sister over something she couldn't quite catch in the midst of flirting with the duke.

Jasper Stanton, hidden behind a pristine white and black mask, watched the Duke of Cambridge push past him in scrutiny before reaching the dark-haired vixen. He halted before her.

Roxanne stared at him wide-eyed and guilty.

Jasper Stanton had very blond hair, long, straight, and tied back neatly and a set of piercing eyes. She felt uncomfortable beneath his stare.

"He isn't worth it," he said, shaking his head disappointedly.

He then averted his attention and slipped past her, further down the hallway until the light disappeared behind him and she was left in darkness.

Her heart hammered in her chest as the heat crawled up her neck and into her face. _Who does he think he is?_

* * *

As the gala came to its definite conclusion and a group of servants appeared to tidy up the ballroom, a set of maids escorted everyone to their bedrooms.

Starrk watched as the Duchess of Warwick tugged off her decorative mask, turned in his direction slightly, and smiled brightly. The glimmering lights enhanced the glitter creating a crescent pattern over the side of her face, but just as she had taken the first step toward him, the Duke of Warwick reached her.

He placed a gentle hand underneath her elbow and leaned forward to whisper something into her ear. Her expression turned serious for a split second before she kissed the side of his face and immediately left out the door.

Starrk left shortly after, exhausted, and headed straight for his bedroom. He would have gone to sleep earlier, but instinct asked him to stay until the party ended and wait until Gwyneth Stanton left his sight. There was something he liked about her.

She was an interesting conversation.

He went up the staircase and went into his bedroom.

Starrk tugged off his tie and discarded his jacket onto the nearest chair. He sat in the bed for a second before dropping back into the comfortable mattress. He closed his eyes to rest them a few minutes. Eventually, he would jump into bed and finally rest his aching limbs. The trip had been long and rocky for him to simply arrive and step into a masquerade ball pretending he hadn't sat in a carriage for hours to present himself promptly at the Duchess of Warwick's home.

He took a breath and held it in…

* * *

Rovina sat inside an empty parlor, staring straight ahead, with her hands folded over her lap. There were butterflies in her stomach, twisting her insides as the breath creeping into her lungs hitched. She fought the urge to cry as she waited for the candlestick to shrink until darkness engulfed her. She figured by the time light extinguished, Elliot would be lying in bed too exhausted to find a reason to humiliate her in what remained of that day.

The duchess felt embarrassed enough already. She was filled with remorse.

For the first time, she felt she had done something incredibly wrong by pushing Lord Ukitake away. Questions of her selfish reasons plagued her mind. He was concerned about her questionable wellbeing and acted upon instinct to see that she was as well as she had always been, but that would be impossible. She did not even know how that felt anymore.

It has been three years of torment.

Happiness was intangible—unknown.

Pretending and wearing a mask was the only thing she could do in public displays.

"Excuse me?"

Rovina pulled away from her morbid thoughts and jerked her attention to the ethereal beauty that was Gwyneth Stanton, delicate and rosy-cheeked with kind eyes and a mass of vibrant gold curls.

Gwyneth smiled gently. "Mind if I accompany you, Mrs. Stephenson?"

There was an endearing quality about the woman.

Rovina nodded. "It is your home, Mrs. Gervais, you need not ask."

Gwyneth found comfort in an armchair by the fireplace and closed her eyes as she leaned her head back. "I wished to be alone for a few minutes…but realized there is no true comfort in being complete and utterly desolate," she started in her soft musical tone. "I do hope I am not intruding in your personal space, Mrs. Stephenson, I will gladly depart if I have trespassed in any way."

The blond had already made a swift gesture to stand, but Rovina raised her hand to stop her.

"No," said the redhead lowly, "you are right. There is no true comfort in being alone. I do appreciate the company."

"Truly?" asked the young woman, hopeful.

"Absolutely." Rovina felt an automatic smile sprint to her lips as she leaned forward to continue the conversation. "I must say, Mrs. Gervais, your masquerade ball was fabulous and your home was the perfect setting. It looks beautiful this winter."

Gwyneth giggled bashfully. "Oh stop," she said with a dismissive hand. "I am simply happy people came. I thought I had been too outrageous by sending such an invitation out short notice when people did not know anything but my name. Mr. Gervais and Jasper had to constantly remind me it was definitely a part of my duty to host such gaudy balls during lazy holiday stretches. I must admit, though, I absolutely hated the decorations!"

Rovina felt the urge to laugh burst forth as she held a hand over her lips. "You are so silly! How could you not expect such results? Everyone in the _ton_ has been dying to meet the elusive Duchess of Warwick. I haven't heard such talk since they were speculating on the late Viscountess Lisle."

The golden haired woman shifted in her seat, the smile remaining on her lips, and turned her eyes. "Ah, the Duke of Norwich's late wife," she said with a sigh. "I heard that she was your good friend. Actually, everyone seems to speak wonders of the Viscountess Lisle, even my husband knew her. It is a shame she wound up trapped in such a tragic incident. I would have loved to meet her."

"It truly is a shame," conceded Rovina, eyes saddening. "She truly was beloved and her death was quite unfair."

"I do think," started Gwyneth with a slight perk to her voice, "had I met Layla Aizen that I would be insanely jealous. Have you seen that man?"

"Mrs. Gervais! You already have your French Duke!" squealed Rovina, laughter lighting her expression. "How shameful that would be!"

Gwyneth pouted childishly. "And he is wonderfully French, but the Duke of Norwich is incredibly handsome. I never would have thought with how little he emerges from his home and to think Miss Layla Aizen laid claim to such a handsome man, I am still quite insanely jealous." The blond took a breath, defeated, as the Duchess of Cambridge continued her fit of laughter, before continuing. "It is unfortunate that I am married and he is to be married. I also find myself quiet envious of Lady Sun-Sun. Alas, I had a chance to dance with him, I do think that is enough contentment to last me an eternity."

"He is unfortunately too handsome for his own good," admitted Rovina, wiping her eyes of stray tears. "I do not think he knows it himself."

"Oh, he should. He is probably the forbidden fantasy of half the women that attended my gala!" continued Gwyneth playfully. "How shameless they are, staring at my fantasy prince."

"You are the absolute worst, Mrs. Gervais!"

Gwyneth wagged her index finger. "I do think I have diverged too many of my dark secrets to have you call me so formally. Gwyneth is a passable option, but for a new friend, Gwyn is perfect."

Rovina bowed her head slightly. "Then I must extend the same formality, to a new friend, of course."

The blond smiled, but immediately tapped her chin. "Now, Rovina is a beautiful name, but what should I call you?"

"Ro," answered the Duchess of Cambridge kindly. "My brother Harry has done so for years and I can find no other suitable alternative."

"Well, Ro, I do hope you enjoy your stay here and that you kindly consent to audacious conversations with me."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"Now," said Gwyneth quickly, "I do think I am entitled to have a childish crush on a man."

"I believe you are very much in love with the Duke of Norwich, Gwyn," replied Rovina teasingly. "There is not much that could be done in your situation."

"It shall prove difficult to simply admire the man, but I think that is as far as any woman can hope to get."

Gwyneth's tone turned serious for a bit, her expression changed the slightest. A flash of emotion crossed it, but she was not sure what it read. Regardless, Rovina understood immediately what the blond was saying.

"You are right," she admitted quietly. "Starrk is still very in love with Layla."

"Is it possible to love a person so much?"

"Yes."

Gwyneth's lips curved. "Well, I still have my imagination."

Rovina laughed at the hint of playfulness in her voice. "Delightful."

The Duchess of Warwick stayed for a number of minutes to follow before rising from her seat and courteously excusing herself. "It has been a pleasure to have met you properly," she said kindly. "I have been looking forward to this meeting for months. You are as spectacular as the rumors claim and I am glad to have put a smile on your face, dearest Ro."

Rovina looked at her incredulously as she left, barely uttering a farewell.

. . . .

Gwyneth pushed back strands of blond hair out of her face as she slinked through the hallway, humming a cheerful melody, and clasped both hands behind her back. A tall, longhaired male came into view, older and kind looking, wearing a neat suit and a charming smile. She would recognize him anywhere.

"Ah, Lord Ukitake, fancy seeing you here," she greeted nicely.

Lord Ukitake smiled lightly. "Good evening duchess, are you heading upstairs?"

"Oh no, the night is still young, I plan to parade myself through the labyrinth garden until I find something interesting to do," she admitted coyly, stopping before him. "Are you, perchance, searching for the Duchess of Cambridge?"

He seemed taken by surprise, blinking as he processed the idea, but his expression changed shortly after, eyes downcast.

"Oh, no," he said lowly. "I was simply taking a walk."

"I would gladly give you a tour, but I do think some do wonderfully alone," she replied earnestly. "Enjoy yourself. And if you happen to secretly be searching for a bit of company, the Duchess of Cambridge is always the perfect companion."

He chuckled slightly. "Thank you, your grace."

Her lips parted to speak, but just as she formed the words in her mind, a voice called out to her from the adjacent hallway behind Lord Ukitake.

"Gwyn."

Constantine Gervais, Duke of Warwick, stood with a candleholder in hand and an affable expression.

"Excuse me, Lord Ukitake, my knight awaits."

Lord Ukitake bowed his head to both and continued on his way as Gwyneth strode toward her husband. She linked her arm to Constantine and smiled kindly at him as he started leading the way toward their bedroom.

"Has something occurred, my love?"

Constantine reached into his coat pocket and provided her with a bulky envelope. She looked at him inquisitively as she reached for it and quickly drew the slip of paper inside, careful not to drop the glittering treasure inside.

They came to a sudden halt as she tilted the paper over her open palm and gold colored dust feathered against her hand until something tumbled out. It shone a vibrant red, a rose cluster ring made entirely of garnets with flecks of gold. The gold band was weathered and sullied with dry blotches of blood.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked cautiously.

Constantine took the garnet ring from her palm and held it close to the flame of his candle. "If I am not mistaken, this ring once belonged to Celeste Luisenbarn," he analyzed critically, using the information fed to him beforehand. "It was a one of a kind creation given to her by her first husband."

"The Duke of Norwich's father?"

He nodded in affirmation. "Unmistakably."

"Then we must return the ring to him immediately!" she said anxiously. "It is of no value to either one of us."

"May I trust you with this task, my love?"

Gwyneth nodded, determined.

"Then, I trust this will reach Starrk's hands safely. Now make haste, it is already quite late," he said in a hush. "I will be meeting with Lord Aizen to speculate about this morning's incident, if you'll excuse me."

. . . .

A knock sounded, startling Starrk out of light slumber.

He rubbed his eyes groggily as a groan of complaint escaped his parted lips. "Yes?"

"It's Gwyneth Gervais," called a melodic voice muffled behind the door. "I have something important to give you."

Starrk rose from his place in bed and straightened out his clothes as best in his ability, but the horrid wrinkles remained visible as he allowed her entrance.

She slipped inside with a carefree smile, excusing her intrusion and strode to him until she was standing directly in front of him.

"I found something earlier," she started carefully, fiddling with the frills of her gown. He stared at her quite intently. She was undeniably beautiful without the mask. She had suiting soft features, long eyelashes, and a pair of full, luscious lips. "…Well, it's best to say my husband found something earlier and he entrusted it made a safe delivery to its rightful owner."

She opened her closed palm between them and his eyes traveled downward until they met with the garnet ring sitting inside her hand.

His blood ran cold, eyes widening.

His attention snapped back to Gwyneth. "Where did he find this?"

Gwyneth's eyebrows rose. "Constantine did not say, he merely said the ring belonged to your mother," she replied with a cheery smile and matching disposition. "His father was a collector, who had an eye for the ring and tried on numerous accounts to purchase it from your mother."

She realized within the next few seconds that his expression was changing into something dark.

"I'm sorry," she said, concerned. "Is something wrong…?"

Starrk held in a breath as he recognized the dry blood on the band, heart stopping.

It was undeniable.

"This," he said, pinching it between his index finger and thumb, "this ring belonged to my wife."

"Oh no." She took a step backward, hand over her mouth. "I do feel I am intruding, forgive me, I'll take my leave. Please excuse me."

Gwyneth scrambled out of the room, a slip of paper falling out of her hand, and disappeared into the hallway without another word.

He reached down for the folded letter and rushed for the doorway, but the blond was nowhere to be found. He glanced down to realize most of the letter was blank save a few cursive words inside. Curiosity drew him toward unfolding it and reading what's there.

_She won't live long._

She?

Layla.

_My Layla._

Starrk looked up, heart thudding violently in his chest.

_She won't live long,_ he repeated, the words echoing in his head. _Live._

The letter came with the garnet ring. He had no doubt about it.

Layla might be alive.

…_Alive._

* * *

_**Thanks to**: Starfire8001 for reviewing the previous chapter._

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

...See what I did there?

Thank you for reading. :)


	44. Ghostly Afterthought

[ II. **Camellia **]

Three: _**Ghostly Afterthought**_

_Imagine her standing there_

_Pushing out her lips as she speaks_

_Stripping her body bare_

_Looking to you with steady eyes,_

_Luring you back into her memory,_

_Pinning you down with chains_

_Kissing you gently_

* * *

Starrk dashed into the hallway after Gwyneth and forced her to a halt as his hand clamped over her arm. She spun around to face him, eyes wide in amazement until an unfolded note was placed before her eyes to read.

"Did this come with the ring?" he asked strongly.

Gwyneth blinked, reading the messy handwriting and feeling as though she had made a mistake. She must have been dropped the note in the middle of the bedroom when she had every intention of handing it over to her benefactor.

She found herself fumbling for words—explanations. "N-no—" She couldn't lie when he looked so distressed. It tore at her insides. She averted her eyes, feeling his grip loosen. "Y-yes, it did. I apologize for trying to keep it from you."

Starrk's eyes lit up and without another word, he rushed down the hallway, disappearing in a shroud of darkness. He knew exactly where to go and what questions to ask as he crumbled the note in his fist. The words written in that paper resonated in his mind.

If Layla was alive…if she was, and there had been hope for their child to survive in whatever horrid situation she was in—if it were possible, he could live for something worthwhile. He could see her again. He could talk to her and hear the sound of her voice. He could feel her, breathe her and kiss her.

Somehow, as he neared Aizen's chambers, he felt he was getting ahead of himself. Imagining that he would have the opportunity to see his wife again, who he believed dead, made him feel worse. If Layla truly was alive and the note was not a trap created by the Fourth Family, as he suspected, would there truly be a way for him to save her. Was it even remotely possible for her to be alive? He struggled with the sentiment that had built up in his chest after three years of missing her, making it infinitely more difficult to believe it could be a lie.

Everything had changed—him and most probably her. He had no telling what circumstances she dealt with in the past three years. Regardless, he had his selfish thoughts and clung to them.

He wanted nothing more in the world as much as he wanted Layla. Never before had he felt that way until she stumbled into his path so long ago. He didn't expect to struggle against his grandfather's orders. He had taken Layla Aizen as a job—enamor, betray and kill. It would have been simple had it been a different woman. Someone that would have fallen prey easily, a woman that would have melted at the feel of his hand upon hers—he would have been the perfect comfort, even for a woman distressed.

Layla was simply not interested. She was sensible, but also quite irritable. When he had been certain that she had opened her heart for him, it had been too late for him to betray her. He had fallen in love instead. Quickly, quite mysteriously too—he wasn't sure what caused the reaction, but there were too many factors to consult and he was too happy to bother. He played the appointed role before his grandfather and cousins, let them not suspect a thing, and then from right underneath their noses, they eloped.

Around that time, she had willingly given him everything she could offer. She had grown soft, reserved and lovelier than the moon. She was fearful of consequence.

Paranoia eventually overcame her.

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Starrk heard the rustling of sheets and a sudden wave of cold wind wash over his body. He came to from slumber, eyes opening a smidgen to the gentle opacity of a candle. He found his wife as his eyes flickered away from the light to the foot of the bed in nothing but a thin nightgown hooked over one shoulder and dangling over the other. The illumination favored the alabaster of her skin and brightened the dark red tones in her hair, creating vibrant russet ringlets.

Layla pulled her fallen sleeve back over her shoulder.

"Layla…?"

She glanced over her shoulder, lips curving into a slight smile. "Did I wake you?"

He sat up, kicking the blankets off, and moved toward his wife so he could sit beside her. He took her hand, lacing their fingers together and placed it over his knee. She was void of heat and trembling.

"How long have you been up?" he asked gently.

"I am not quite sure," she admitted softly, resting her head on his naked shoulder and taking a breath. "I tried to go back to sleep, but I found it incredibly difficult. I wanted to take a walk outside, but thought it might be a horrible idea to leave the house in the middle of the night."

Starrk tugged at her hand, kissing the top of her head. "Let's go together."

"Are you certain?" she said, befuddled, allowing him to lead her onto her feet.

He nodded, reaching to grab one of her warmest coats and draped it over her shoulders. He dressed quickly and took the frock coat Layla offered him.

Within the next few minutes, they left their bedroom quietly and made their way toward the far end staircase on their floor that led the way out the backdoor. He took the lead, holding her hand in his and made sure to shut every door behind them carefully.

They made a noiseless exit and stepped out to feel the whips of the autumn breeze. The moon was high and the sky was cloudless. Moonlight engulfed the entire garden, making it unnecessary for her to light the lantern she brought along with her from the kitchen. The sound of the insects and swish of the plants filled the night with crisp sounds that overshadowed the crunch of their steps as they ventured down the gravel path to the tiny courtyard in the center of the garden.

Layla's cheeks and nose turned a slight red with the exposure of the cold air. She didn't mind it as she took a sharp breath. Cold filled her lungs and it was painfully sweet. There was beauty in Penthurst Hall that she might have never imagined seeing in her entire life. A part of her, growing up in the environment that she had, felt that she would always be that sheltered young woman that followed the same routine for years until her father found a fitting husband and she married. Of course, she figured, the routine would be altered, but it would not be enough for her to feel happy.

She felt a bit lightheaded, but knew that she needed to breathe fresh air even if she was scared to death of lurking dangers. Even if her mind convinced her to relax within the company of her husband, she couldn't stop her body from shaking. The fear was too great.

It consumed her.

The couple came to a halt when they reached the courtyard and took adjacent seats on one of the outer stone benches that sat among what remained of the blossoms. Starrk set Layla's hand free, feeling she might want to take the time to indulge in her mind's inner workings and rid herself of the nightmares that plagued her.

She sat quite still, trembling not from the cold, but out of fright.

Regardless, Starrk leaned forward, startling her to move backward slightly. She froze, expression softening as her hands fell to her sides, and watched as he tugged the lapels of her fur coat shut. She pushed up the collar so it covered her throat well. Her cheeks were a rosy pink and as cold as ice to the touch.

The ghostly touch of a smile graced her lips for a short instant before frightened eyes averted to follow the sound of rustling bushes.

The wind was howling. Trees swooshed noisily.

With each sound, Layla scooted closer to him until her shaking body was pressed against his side. He wrapped an arm around her and felt her hand pressing against the thick fabric of his coat, outlining the concealed pistol.

Her heart seemed to have settled as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"What do you fear?"

An anticipated silence passed as she twined their fingers together, his hand slightly warmer than hers. She moved her head back slightly so she could stare directly at the starry sky and feel the cold wind whip across her face.

"Losing you," she admitted softly. "I cannot stand the thought. I wish you to be mine for all eternity as we proclaimed with our vows, but I fear if the Fourth Family makes a move against us, our separation would be inevitable."

His stomach twisted uneasily, grip tightening over her shoulder. "So long as we stay together, nothing will happen to us. They cannot separate us, Layla. Understand that I will not allow them."

Layla tilted her head back to face him, their lips inches from touching as the winds gathered speed and begun hitting hard against their bodies until it froze them to the very core. For a moment, though, it was as if they had not noticed the change in weather. He gazed into her eyes intently, not bothering to mask his desire to warm her once more, and her lips parted, sweet voice whispering against his face.

"Kiss me," she said gently. "Please, just kiss me."

He kissed her hard, passionately, and pulled her flush against him until the warmth of his body swept through her like a wave. She shivered once more, but not out of fear or cold. This was something different. This emotion was her way of replacing all the rest, otherwise, it' would be impossible to forget.

Layla latched onto his neck, feeling his arms slip underneath her coat and push against the thin fabric of her nightgown before she drew away. Her eyes were hooded, breath warm against his lips. She looked spectacular beneath a stream of pale light.

"I will trust in you."

He kissed the corner of her lips and nodded slowly. He drew her coat shut and patted her shoulder gently, looking at her fleetingly. "Let's return home."

Starrk pulled her onto her feet with a gentle tug and led her back down the path from which they arrived.

For a moment, there was silence.

Layla looked behind her, eyes distant and lips set into a tight line. Her grip against his hand tightened, surprising him.

_I cannot shake this feeling._

Something was terribly wrong.

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Layla probably knew from the start.

She had been wary about leaving to the arranged port as well. She almost refused to leave him behind, though he had only been thinking about her and the child's safety. He figured if she was taken from Penthurst Hall immediately, she could escape another invasion, but it was a reckless thought. He wasn't thinking straight or else he would have realized it had been a trap from the start.

The Fourth Family needed someone. He wasn't quite sure for what reason—bribery or simply murder, he wouldn't know.

He didn't need to be reminded of this.

Starrk arrived at Aizen's room, surprised to see a dim light filtering through the cracks. He felt an urge to burst in, but he had scruples, so he knocked loudly against the wooden frame. It wasn't long before he heard the shuffling of feet and the creak of the door as it was pulled open to reveal the earl, still looking as neat as always though his hair was slightly disheveled.

Sōsuke Aizen looked oddly calm, but a hint of a smile graced his lips. "What brings you here, Starrk?"

"Layla," he breathed, trying to articulate his whirring thoughts and dug through his pocket to draw out the note and garnet ring. He presented it to her father, watching as a momentary flash of emotion clouded his expression. "Do you—?"

Aizen took a breath and averted his gaze as he cleared the entrance. "Come in."

Starrk stepped in, shutting the door behind him and watched the earl make his way back to the wine sitting atop the far end table. He poured more merlot in his glass and offered a drink to the duke, who shook his head in refusal.

The earl took a sip and gestured toward the items nestled in the palm of his hand. "What does it say?"

"She doesn't have much time left."

Aizen took the paper from his hand and glanced at it critically. His eyebrows furrowed as he gulped down a good portion of his wine, not allowing enough time to enjoy it properly.

"The Fourth Family plans to ridicule us," he answered sternly. "This hasn't been the first letter they have sent me."

Starrk felt his shoulders slump. He should have known the earl wouldn't divulge such information to him, even if it concerned his wife. He had been expected to forget all about Layla and devote his attentions to all of his business affairs, which he had to keep his mind off marrying Sun-Sun.

"Have you…?" he trailed off, too concerned with the response.

"Layla is my daughter," said Aizen simply. "Even so, I am in no position to involve myself in this sort of play. Being the only member of the Families without a successor, you can't expect me to take such a risk."

That was an upsetting thought—infuriating almost. Layla was his daughter. He should at least care enough to help her when she is in need. She was taken because he left her with the Aizen family's responsibility. She had been in no position or had any desire to succeed him.

His hands fisted at his side. "I'll do it."

"Luisenbarn won't allow it."

"My grandfather has no power over me."

Aizen looked pleased with his answer, almost as though he had expected it, and set down his wineglass atop the nearest table. "Then, I'll leave it to you," he said calmly. "You are better suited for this sort of job after all."

Starrk knew exactly what had been hinted and with a curt farewell, departed. Preparations had to be done. He wouldn't lose another minute sitting around doing nothing.

If there was a possibility Layla was alive, he would do everything in his power to bring her back to his side.

* * *

Rovina stirred out of slumber, muscles throbbing in pain. She carefully pushed the blankets off her body as she sat up to reveal a pale nightgown that hung loosely off her shoulders and stared at the empty pillow at her side. The bed was large and foreign. It would be proper to admit she did not sleep in her room that first night and that she did something incredibly scandalous. That morning, she feared the consequences, but for the first time in the past three years, even with her body tingling with slight pain, she slept soundly and dreamlessly. The feeling was relieving, but the aftertaste of such a wonderful rest was bitter.

The duchess' eyes searched the surrounding area, straining her eyes underneath the sting of the morning's light. Her skin was glowing beneath the slight illumination, blotched with purple and green bruises and red fingerprints. She twisted her fingers through her fiery locks until they fell in waves along the base of her neck, tips reaching down her back. She craned her neck to see a slumbering man on the largest couches with the extra blankets piled onto his body.

Rovina slipped out of bed with a yawn and quietly made her way toward the couch where she crouched down at its side. She found the lord sleeping peacefully in a rather uncomfortable position, white hair tied neatly and pushed out of his face. Lord Ukitake was beautiful as she found herself staring quite intently at his slumberous expression.

She almost felt ashamed of having thought so. _Almost_.

He called her beautiful long ago. She wondered if he still thought that way. Was she still beautiful as she was? Battered and humiliated by the man she swore eternity to? Would Jūshirō still find her as radiant as he had those years ago?

_I doubt it is possible._

She dropped her head into her hands.

_There has never been beauty in this body._

There was only one reason why she accepted to sleep in that particular room. It happened shortly after Gwyneth Gervais left the drawing room that she found herself sitting in the same room as Jūshirō Ukitake. After the last conversation they had, she felt incredibly awkward, as did he, but none of that stopped the man from speaking to her again. She thought that after she rudely shouted at him, he would not be willing to try, but he was. He proved that he would not abandon her after seeing the wounds on her body, not even if she begged him to ignore them.

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Rovina made the mistake of having pushed the strands of red hair away from her forehead, inadvertently revealing the tiny gash decorating her temple to the man to her left. She could still feel the anxiety bubbling at the pit of her stomach, even though more than five minutes had passed since Jūshirō Ukitake entered the empty parlor. They had only exchanged greetings, though hers was a bit forced due to her apprehension. He smiled affably as if nothing had happened a few hours ago. Her actions at that moment were purely a series of bad habits.

She had forgotten about the tiny cut she had gotten when Elliot shoved her roughly and she hit to sharp corner of a squared table. It had been bleeding profusely before Acacia was allowed to tend to it.

"Duchess," he said suddenly, leaning in to have a better look. "What happened to your forehead?"

She jerked backward. Her heart skipped a beat as he was a few feet too close and her breath hitched. She couldn't believe it. "W-What?"

Her voice rang nervously and shortly after realizing what she had forgotten, her hand shot up to her head to cover the cut.

Jūshirō took her gently but firmly by the wrist and drew it from her forehead, eyes scanning the wound. His eyebrows knitted as he took a deep breath. "So it isn't just the bruises on your neck," he said with traces of an emotion she couldn't quite pinpoint. "There are others."

Her eyes widened as he stared at her seriously, the feeling behind his gaze made her feel pitiful.

She was. She just never wanted to see herself in that light.

Rovina jerked her hand away and burst out of her seat in one swift movement. "Stop this," she snapped defensively. "I shouldn't have stayed here. I wouldn't have if you were going to interrogate me."

She swept past him, hearing the sound of him standing hastily.

"Rovina!" he called, stopping her dead in her tracks.

She found it difficult to move. She was running away again from someone willing to save her.

Still, wasn't it better to run…? Her situation would definitely worsen if she were to involve others. She would definitely die if it would come to Elliot's attention…but hadn't that been what she had wanted these past three years? Wouldn't it be easier to die than have to deal with Elliot's constant abuse and humiliation?

Why did she suddenly feel like it wasn't impossible to accomplish?

Rovina swallowed hard.

"I won't ask," said Jūshirō suddenly, though a bit strained. "I won't ask you any questions just let me tend to your wounds."

He won't ask.

The emotion swelled inside her, turning her into a blubbering fool. Instead of speaking and letting her sadness show, she nodded her head, quick to dab at the lone tear with a finger.

Jūshirō breathed a sigh. "Thank goodness."

He sat her down immediately and excused himself for a short while to retrieve his supplies. She had forgotten he was a doctor; he had after all treated Layla in Vinnlake Hall when she had fallen ill. It was a stupid thing to forget.

He returned shortly and carefully tended to the wound on her forehead before asking if there were more. She didn't have other deep gashes like that, not at that moment, but he did notice the tiny scar under her chin that had been left behind from that time that seemed so long ago.

Hardly any words were exchanged once he finished. He seemed to be trying hard not to ask any imposing questions as promised, but it showed on his face. She wasn't very willing to tell him either, so the silence was maintained.

It wasn't long before they decided to leave the parlor to go to their respective bedrooms. Jūshirō offered to escort her even though she said no, but he persisted until she agreed. She was afraid of what they would find. It might have been intuition.

Rovina was half a step in front of him as they made their way down the hallway that held her joint bedroom with her husband and the closer she got to the door, the more the dread piled on. Then, when she was standing face to face to the door with her hand on the handle, she heard the sounds emerging from within. Heavy breathing and pleasured moans sounded lowly.

It was like taking a knife to the heart.

Jūshirō bore witness to this and did the first thing that came to mind. He took her by the hand and gently tugged her right back down the hallway, immediately after watching tears streak down her cheeks and the tightening of the hand she held over her chest. He didn't care if that man was her husband or that she had every right to confront him, he could tell Rovina Stephenson was in no position to do so. He was hurting her as it was. Things could only get worse and he acted on instinct. He would not let Rovina get hurt. It didn't feel right. It never would, he understood.

He brought her to his own bedroom and quickly offered her the bed as he dried her tears with his thumbs. He held her face gently as though it was fragile to the touch. She was shaking violently and her voice was nothing more than a flood of sobs. She didn't push him away as he had thought, she wrapped her trembling hands over his wrists and held onto him as she clung to the love she had for her husband—what she thought remained, at least.

His gaze softened and, unable to control his urge to uphold his status as a proper gentleman, drew her towards his body. He wrapped his arms around her firmly, one hand pressed against the back of her head.

"You did nothing wrong, Rovina," he said painfully. "You didn't do anything to deserve this."

Maybe those had been the right words because Rovina couldn't hold in the tempest of emotions and clung to the back of Jūshirō's coat as she cried harder into his chest. She suddenly didn't care how unsightly she looked or what thoughts might have been crossing his mind. The world around them disappeared and there was only warmth between them and the sound of his rampant heart.

"You are beautiful Rovina," he continued lowly, grip tightening as he spoke out of turn. "You are too beautiful a person for this to happen. He does not deserve you."

Rovina couldn't stop her tearful display.

Why did he speak so straightforwardly? Why did he think so highly of her? Why was he so warm and reassuring? Why did she find comfort in this man that was not her husband? How much more sinful could her actions become?

This sort of behavior would upset Elliot…yet she did not care about it.

"S-Stop!" she said suddenly, pushing against him, tear-stained face and eyes puffy.

Jūshirō let her go immediately, not wishing to cause her harm and watched as she drew a handkerchief and furiously attempted to clean his jacket of the tears staining it.

"I'm so sorry!" she continued hastily. "I've dirtied your coat."

He pulled her hand away and smiled gently. "I don't care," he said. "If you want to cry more, do so, I don't care if you soak one or a hundred of my jackets."

Her lower lip trembled. "You shouldn't say such things to a lady, my lord."

His face was serious as a flush of red crept over his cheeks. "If it's you, Rovina, I won't mind. I won't mind anything."

Blue eyes went wide and the remaining tears disappeared down her cheeks as the heat rushed up her neck and into her cheeks. He had just said something scandalous. He knew it and she knew it.

It was as if he was expressing his…

_No. It can't be. No. Absolutely not._

"Lord U—"

"Jūshirō is fine," he blurted, face burning a deeper shade of crimson.

Rovina couldn't breathe. The heat was getting to her. "O-Okay! Ju-Ju-Jūshirō!"

_What is wrong with me?_

They were both, slowly but surely, turning various shades of red darker after noticing the fact that they were a few inches apart and that their hands were both on each other's body, nowhere near inappropriate areas, of course. Still, Rovina couldn't shake the feeling that the places where his hands were had increased in temperature.

"Anyway," started Jūshirō after turning away, "feel free to use the bed, I'll just sleep on the couch."

There was a nervous ring in his voice, but she felt the same, so it made it difficult to refuse.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When Jūshirō Ukitake opened his eyes, he saw Rovina to his immediate left, slumped over her arm, dead asleep. He lifted his body carefully and stretched his arms over his head as a yawn passed his lips. He glanced back to her wondering if she had gotten any rest last night after everything that happened.

He wasn't sure how he felt knowing that the Duke of Cambridge was unfaithful to his wife. Sure, he heard plenty of rumors back before meeting the redheaded woman properly, but he wasn't one to listen to gossip. It wasn't the sort of talk that interested him, so it was easy to ignore. After meeting Rovina Stephenson, he figured it would be impossible for her to be the sort of woman a man was unfaithful to because she was so wonderful. She was happy too, even though Elliot spent most of his time away on business. There was no reason for there to be any doubt, so he avoided the suspicion.

Jūshirō, as intrigued as he was by the duchess, understood he shouldn't cross any boundaries. He only wanted the duchess' friendship. It had been his only intention from the start, but now, he wasn't sure he could be her friend. She wasn't willing to listen or talk, yet she was getting hurt day after day for something that probably wasn't her fault.

He was certain Rovina had done nothing wrong.

He reached to place a hand on the woman's shoulder, startling her out of slumber. She jerked backward, eyes wide as they refocused on him. She took a breath and settled into a seat, rubbing her eyes.

"Forgive me," she blurted, embarrassed. "I seem to have fallen asleep again. I was about to wake you…"

He smiled easily. "Maybe you should continue resting."

Rovina shook her head. "I should dress and return to my husband. I also need to return this nightgown to Gwyn."

Truthfully, she needed to think of a cover story. She had done something unladylike, something that would likely shame her governess and tutors, most probably her parents and ancestors too. She felt so ashamed, for more things than one.

"Aaa, you might be right," he said simply, getting off the couch. "I'll leave you to get dressed then."

She nodded and straightened out along with him, trying hard to keep her gaze averted. She was both anxious and self-conscious. The emotion bubbled in the pit of her stomach as she drew her arms across her torso. A slight pink colored her cheeks.

Jūshirō noticed and quickly excused himself into the adjacent room while she gathered her clothes and called a maid to help her into the corset. Rovina was out of his bedroom before the half hour was up, but she did not realize she had forgotten the pearls she had draped around her neck.

* * *

Starrk didn't notice the sun had risen until he pushed past the drawn curtains of the four-poster bed and found himself blinded by the bright sunrays. He spent the entire night tossing over the mattress restlessly thinking about the possibilities of Layla still being alive and the reasons as to why the Fourth Family may have decided to keep her.

Did they know about her knowledge? In comparison to the other members of the Three Families, she was by far the most knowledgeable.

The information network run by her father far surpassed others and it was only natural she was on par with the man. Even if she never displayed it, she knew far more about everything than the others. If she hadn't contributed so much of her knowledge and mental capabilities, they might not have made it through four months hidden in Penthurst Hall. She knew about the ones attacking and how to counter them and she often used herself as bait knowing that she had her husband and bodyguard to keep her safe.

Did they plan to use her?

Were they using her now?

The farthest the Fourth Family had gone was creating mayhem throughout London in the hopes of drawing the Three Families out of hiding. Creating trails of murders they could only blame on them to further gain the public to approve their destruction. Most times, even though the Families were feared, the people didn't pay heed to any of the Families' endeavors because they never affected them direction. Life wasn't made easier or harder for normal middle to lower class individuals because the Three Families existed. In fact, many of them were hired by the Three Families and they benefited the most.

That is why the Fourth Family targeted the lower class workers on their killing spree and reason why the Three Families were losing grunts to do petty errand jobs and shipments from continent to continent. The grunts didn't matter to the Luisenbarn Family since their focus was mainly assassination and managed most of the spoils of the Black Market, but the Aizen Family ran the largest information network in the world and managed one of the biggest drug rings running through England.

Starrk's concern rested in the wellbeing of the Aizen Family and the problems caused by the Fourth Family's meddling. He got through his morning ablutions with that single thought and headed downstairs to join the rest of the guests in the dinner hall for breakfast when a butler appeared to inform him. He joined all representatives of their families at the table with the Duke and Duchess of Warwick while most of the other guests enjoyed breakfast in the adjacent hall where tables had been set up to accommodate everyone.

He sat between Neliel and Nnoitra, who looked to have been arguing before he joined them. He shot both of them a slightly disapproving sideway glance. Nnoitra cursed him beneath his breath as he took to finishing what was left of his breakfast and leave. Anyone could tell the lanky male hated spending any time with any of the other families, no matter how amicable the representatives were. Neliel greeted him with a smile, as did the others.

"We need to talk after breakfast," said Starrk to both his cousins.

Disregarding their differences, Neliel and Nnoitra nodded.

Starrk looked down the length of the table to see Rovina sitting across Jūshirō Ukitake, both burning holes into their plates while evidently avoiding conversation with one another. Elliot, her husband, was busily chatting with Melena Forsyth and Roxanne. Aizen conversed with the Duke of Warwick and on occasion with Shunsui Kyoraku, who sat across him. Gwyneth kept Neliel busy throughout breakfast.

He spoke very little. He hated discussing politics.

Once everyone finished breakfast, Constantine and Gwyneth strode out to the hall to invite everyone to hear Rose Thornton sing while her husband played piano. Starrk used that time to lead both his cousins into an empty parlor and when he was certain they were completely alone without eavesdroppers, he divulged the speculations spawned from attaining Layla's garnet ring and the letter the Duchess of Warwick dropped.

Nnoitra's eyebrows knit in annoyance. "You've gotta be shittin' me. There's no goddamned way she coulda stayed alive for three years," he said. "What use is a naïve wannabe heir, eh?"

Starrk expected that sort of reaction out of Nnoitra.

"As hopeful as I am that this information isn't another trap, I don't think the Fourth Family would keep Layla alive for three years," said Neliel, gently. "It would be safe to say, you would be a more valuable asset. Layla knew nothing about the inner workings of any family or the dangers revolving around them."

It was a gentler response, but collected and well thought out as Neliel always proved to be.

"Layla has always been the most valuable member in the Three Families," said Starrk calmly. "It should have probably been the most obvious thing considering she was chosen to be the earl's sole heir, but everyone simply overlooked it because she seemed unaware."

Nnoitra rolled his eyes, but before he had a chance to offer his opinion, Neliel spoke up.

"Then…does that mean Layla had access to her father's information network?"

"Not just access," Starrk said. "She knew how to maneuver the information and gather more without so much as lifting a finger. Her mental capabilities far exceed mine. She may be the weakest heir, but she might be the most dangerous as well. That would be the only reason why the Fourth Family would keep her alive."

"Bullshit!" cursed Nnoitra vehemently. "Jus' bullshit! There's no way that broad could be that useful. Why would Aizen waste his time on her anyway when he's got that creepy son of his?"

"Both Layla and Szayel were versed and instructed—conditioned, if you prefer—equally at their own time," explained Starrk. "The earl wasn't willing to take chances when it came to relying solely on one of his children, much like Yamamoto's take with both of his heirs, except one could say Aizen was experimenting. Layla turned out to be the wild card. For that reason, she was chosen as his heir; otherwise, Szayel would have been the one."

"Do you think Layla willingly gave the Fourth Family access to her family's network?" said Neliel tentatively.

"Under normal circumstances, it's very unlikely," replied Starrk truthfully. "Layla had too much pride."

"If this aint another shit trap, then she sold us out," stated Nnoitra restlessly, leaning into the back of a long couch. "Wouldn't it be better to track her down and kill 'er like you were told to?"

Neliel's expression darkened. "There is only one reason she would be willing to comply," she said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "She wouldn't sacrifice the life of her child if it had been threatened by circumstances. It's a mother's instinct."

"It's the only tangible reason," affirmed Starrk with a nod.

"So what now?" asked Nnoitra, bored. "You're planning to send us off on another stupid ghost trail?"

"Layla is better on our side than on theirs," said Starrk seriously. "This is no longer a personal matter. She has information that can potentially end the reign of the Three Families. If there is even a possibility that she is alive, it is imperative that we retrieve her."

"We should refer to the nobles that gathered in Wedgeworth's private house," said Neliel, glancing fleetingly in Nnoitra's direction.

Nnoitra's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean _us_?"

She ignored the comment. "It would be easiest to speak to the Stanton siblings before heading to London to talk to Camilla Remington. We'll need to reevaluate all the information we've already gathered and find Grimmjow as well."

"Oi," started Nnoitra, annoyed.

"Send me any new information," said Starrk quickly. "If you find anything on Wedgeworth or Bentley, call for me immediately. They are the only direct links to finding Layla."

"What will you do?"

"I'll be working under Aizen and going with whatever leads he can provide," he said, taking a step back toward the doorway. "He has someone following this. Apparently, these letters have been sent to him for some time now. I'll have you both briefed once I have all the information myself. For now, you two should hurry, speak with the Stanton siblings, and leave immediately."

"Oi! I haven't agreed to this!" complained Nnoitra, but the door had already slammed shut behind Starrk.

Neliel cast a wary glance in the giant's direction. "Would you rather gather information or take over my duties?"

"Either way, you owe me," grunted Nnoitra as he stormed out of the parlor.

Neliel sighed with a slight shake of her head. This would be a difficult partnership, she knew that much. She only hoped they could get by like they had when Starrk first ordered them to find Wedgeworth and Bentley, without stepping on each other's toes.

* * *

Starrk got through the pleasantries of that afternoon before Aizen asked for a private audience. The earl invited him into the empty library upstairs for a glass of wine where he was certain no one would disturb the conversation.

Tall bookshelves covered the circular room and a set of armchairs sat before a large fireplace. Both men settled into a seat after the butler delivered a bottle of wine and for a lengthy time they exchanged small talk that didn't get them anywhere. The stale talk eventually began to aggravate Starrk's nerves, though he had been patient enough to persevere through to provide his cousins enough time to question the Stanton siblings properly without Aizen's speculating.

He suspected that Melena Forsyth would be keeping an eye on every move his cousins made.

"…I suppose we should start speaking about Layla," started Aizen smoothly, swirling the crimson wine in his glass. "My position hasn't allowed me to confirm the reliability of the letters, but that does not mean I have not tried investigating them. If Layla is, indeed, alive, she needs to be rescued and placed back under my jurisdiction. You should know the value of my daughter."

Starrk gulped down the lump in her throat, feeling his mouth dry up painfully. "Yes. She is, without a doubt, your heir."

The earl leaned forward a bit. "Of course, this would also pose a problem."

"It would mean my marriage to Layla isn't over," offered Starrk seriously.

"Quite problematic," continued Aizen, taking a sip of wine. "I cannot have my businesses fall into your hands because of the current marriage laws."

"I have no qualms with Layla remaining your successor. I have no interest in following marriage laws so long as my engagement to Sun-Sun is annulled and I can be Layla's proper husband."

"Well then, if we are only being fooled by the Fourth Family, then I ask that you marry Sun-Sun as soon as you return to London."

"Fine."

It might have been the leftover sparkle of hope that fueled his will to renounce whatever remained of his freedom. Layla's life was only still a possibility, nothing more, but he felt that if he were to give up that tiny sliver of hope left in his heart, he would regret it. He might be fooling himself. That was always a prospect.

After a length silence, Aizen spoke again.

"Do you plan to leave today?"

"The faster I trace back the letter the fresher the trail," said Starrk.

"Good, but you'll need a guide. I have already asked them and they agreed. Considering they know all about the letters."

"The Duke of Warwick?"

"No, his duchess."

He looked a bit taken aback, but he nodded wordlessly.

"I suggest you head straight to my countryside manor. Rye is currently staying there. He has many leads you may want to follow. There is a possibility one of those leads might be the right one," the earl explained easily. "Use Rye to gather information. He'll keep me informed as well."

"Rye…?"

"He volunteered himself when the first letter appeared. He's quite agile."

The conversation continued for a short while and then, they parted ways. Starrk headed upstairs to have things prepared for his departure and second guessed Aizen's decision to send Gwyneth with him on his search. Then again, if she knew enough to guide him, then, they would have no problems, besides, she had been in the private manor when everything occurred.

* * *

"You're leaving?" asked Rovina, astonished, as she carefully set down her cup of tea.

Starrk nodded. "Sorry I can't stay to keep you company, but something came up."

The redheaded duchess smiled gently, as if nothing was wrong. "It understandable," she said lightly. "You are always so busy. I'm not that surprised. Besides, there are many others here I haven't spoken to in years. I am ashamed I must reacquaint myself with almost all my old friends."

"I doubt that would be difficult for you."

She laughed genteelly. "I'm just nervous! I haven't been outside the inner circle for this long since I first married Elliot."

He allowed his expression to change for a split second. Rovina noticed immediately and her features twisted in concern.

"Is something wrong…?"

He shook his head and rose from his seat. "No," he said, quickly regretting his decision to stay silent. "It's late. I should be leaving."

Rovina stood as well, tangling her fingers nervously. "Be safe, Starrk."

"Thank you," he said, crossing the parlor. "I'll write to you."

He considered telling her all about the possibility of Layla being alive. He could deal with unstable hope. Rovina was a lot more sensitive. He wouldn't put her through that.

He decided to leave without saying another word.

Rovina dropped back into her seat once Starrk left the parlor and pushed back her hair, wincing. Purplish new bruises decorated the corner of her forehead to accompany the tiny cut. She confronted Elliot after breakfast and ended up with more bruises she needed to hide. It seemed she had been too hopeful in believing Elliot wouldn't lay a hand on her during a highly attended gathering. She should have said something to Starrk.

The regret lasted very little as she remembered what had happened last night with Jūshirō and her cheeks colored a deep crimson.

. . . .

Rovina was present when Starrk left Willowside Castle, surprisingly accompanied by Gwyneth. The blond woman explained to her that she would be his guide and apologized that she wouldn't be able to stay longer.

"…Well, duty calls!" she said affably. "I don't think I've ever traveled so much before."

"This isn't a vacation, Gwyneth," grumbled Starrk as he boarded the carriage.

Rovina laughed and reached for the woman's hands. "Do me a favor Gwyn."

"Yes?"

"Take care of Starrk. I don't know what sort of work this might be, but he tends to lose focus of his own health when he becomes too engrossed. I'm certain this may be one of those jobs."

Gwyneth smiled and nodded. "I will do my best."

"Thank you."

Gwyneth climbed into the carriage with Starrk after all goodbyes were exchanged and they were off to Aizen's countryside manor.

* * *

_**Thanks to**: starfire8001 for reviewing the previous chapter._

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

I considered elongating part 2 by four to five more chapters because I feel I can't properly execute all my ideas with only five chapters remaining. I haven't made a solid decision yet and probably won't get to making it until I finish writing the fifth chapter, I think that's going to determine the route to the rest of the story.

I already finished chapter four and if I finish the fifth one on schedule, I can promise the next chapter will be out next Saturday (I have to tweak a couple of details during the editing process and rewrite some things, too). It is Ukitake/Rovina-centric. Chapter five focuses on Starrk and Gwyneth journey where they discover something that should have probably been obvious from the start, but I guess with all the buzz about Layla, everyone kinda forgot something important-feel free to speculate. :D

There are previews to both chapters four and five up on my livejournal.

Thank you for reading. :)


	45. End To

[ II. **Camellia** ]

Four: _**End To...  
**_

_Black and Purple_

_The color of blood_

_Pain_

_Infliction_

_Hopes and dreams_

—_**non-existent**__—_

_Taste of poison_

_Feelings of resentment_

_I know it all and more._

* * *

Rovina watched out of the corner of her eye as Melena Forsyth's youngest child flocked around her husband placing butterfly kisses on the flirtatious man when she thought nobody was looking. Admittedly, she never expected to cross paths with the gypsy girl again, believing Elliot had been too preoccupied making her life miserable to cater with his infidelities as comfortably as before, but it turned out the street rat had noble blood.

Melena Forsyth is an important member of the Aizen beneficiary, married to the late Dr. Forsyth of an English earldom in North England, who spent years searching for the children stolen from her by gypsy thieves during a summer in Germany. It happened over eighteen years ago so Rovina had the faintest recollection of the booming gossip circulating the _ton_, but if she were to grow curious about the matter, she would contact and question her mother until she was knowledgeable of the entire ordeal.

Rovina was not interested. Her heart went out to Melena Forsyth who suffered eighteen years without her loving children and persevered until they were reunited, but she had absolutely no interest in her shamelessly ill-mannered ex-gypsy daughter who flaunted herself around as everything but a woman of society.

Roxanne did not care for stray opinions about her behavior. She dismissed rude, accusing comments with a wave of her hand or with a ring of laughter, unaffected by the words or actions of her fellow peers. Women gossiped viciously behind her back, as they were known to do without the knowledge of every other woman whether graciously unadulterated or angelical, and few chose to stray from her presence, sometimes going as far as ignoring her very existence.

Men, on the other half, loved her. She was an enchanting woman that knew the right words to say and the right jokes to tell. She had adventurous stories to share that they enjoyed listening to as they stole glances of her beautifully tanned skin and deep cleavage. She insistently curled her stubbornly straight hair in her index finger as she openly flirted with the men until the strands of her jet-black tresses slipped between her breasts. It was an unconscious habit that brought her reputation favorable results, as everyone in the room was aware that she was not a dainty woman set on waiting until marriage to have her peach plucked. Not when she had thrown herself at Elliot Stephenson and woke at his side the following morning.

Rovina kept her lips sealed. She turned a blind eye. It was best to do so to avoid punishment, at least until her temperament flared. Blinded by fury, the redheaded duchess was not sure what could come about any situation. So, instead of paying close attention to Elliot's advancements on Roxanne in the semi-populated tea party, Rovina focused on taking tentative sips from her cup and upheld a conversation with Clarette Burakgazi, wife of an infamous Turkish emissary with the Luisenbarn beneficiary.

Clarette was a chatty, plump woman with a thick accent and love for horror stories, specifically the short stories written by Edgar Allan Poe. She told the duchess all about the different horror books she has had the opportunity to read and how they helped improved her English during her stay in London while sharing biscuits to compliment the sweet tasting tea.

"Have you read lots of books too, your grace?" said Clarette with a jolly smile. "Noble houses have own library, yes?"

"Elliot has an enormous library," replied Rovina, setting her cup and saucer down one after the other over a nearby table. Her mind unconsciously replayed a moment that occurred seven months ago when she and her husband had had an explosive confrontation that led to the most savage beatings she had to endure. Reminded of that moment made it difficult to smile, but before she came to that realization, she noticed she had grown used to faking the emotion, as Clarette did not notice any hesitation in her countenance. "He reads plenty, I don't. I regrettably have never grown fond of books."

Clarette laughed merrily. "Whatever do you do to enjoy yourself, your grace, if not sit and read good books?"

There was blood everywhere, she recalled as a ring of laughter escaped her lips. "I shop! I know no joy outside of buying new hats and shoes and matching purses."

"Oh yes, shop! There are many beautiful boutiques in London, no?"

She coughed violently and more would come out. The skin that covered muscle and bone did not feel like hers. Everything was numb.

"There are so many! Have you had a chance to visit all of them yet?"

"Not yet, I have been far too busy to enjoy my time here."

Elliot did not stop inflicting pain on her until she picked up the nearest blunt object and used it against him. There was no telling where she had hit him. She did not bother staying there to watch him writhe in pain as she scrambled off the ground and pushed her shaky feet to their limit.

"Such a shame," said Rovina with a slight smile. "I can recommend many to you."

"Tell me! Tell me!"

When she came to her senses, she was huddled underneath one of the desks of the large library covered in blood and woozy. A sharp pain in her abdomen forced a strained cry out of her, one she attempted to hold back with her hand slapped over her lips. Fresh tears dripped from her chin, blood pooled underneath her as the pains turned excruciating, and when she looked down, breath hitching, she saw—

"Your grace?"

A warm hand jerked her out of her horrid memories. She looked up to see Jūshirō staring down at her kindly before turning his attention to the emissary's wife.

"Might I borrow her?"

Clarette warmed up to the kindness that Jūshirō emitted and nodded in compliance. "Yes. We can always talk boutiques later."

Jūshirō offered his arm to her. "Come, your grace, walk with me."

Rovina nodded absentmindedly as she rose and took his arm, twining hers over his. She cast a fearful glance in her husband's direction, but realized he was too busy flirting with the tanned skinned beauty to care who walked in and out of the room.

Jūshirō escorted her out of the room and led her down the hallway in complete silence.

"You looked upset," started Jūshirō once they were far from any other lingering guests. "Did Mrs. Burakgazi say something?"

She blinked. "I looked upset?"

"You looked like you were about to cry."

She loosened her grip on his arm and took a deep breath as she channeled her thoughts. She was not in tune with her emotions. There was a lot on her mind since last night.

"I suppose I no longer have a good grasp of my emotions."

Her voice was not hers.

"Did Mrs. Burakgazi say something to you?" he pressed gently.

"She asked if Elliot and I had a library in our home," she said distantly.

"…Oh," he strayed away from bombarding her with questions as he promised not to question her.

Rovina awkwardly dropped her arm to her side. "I don't think this walk is a good idea. If Elliot were to see—"

"He would hurt you?"

She averted her eyes as the two came to a halt when they rounded the corner into an empty corridor. "Let's not discuss this."

"I'm sorry Rovina," he started gently, drawing her gaze from the floor. "You can't ask me to sit still and watch as your husband abuses you. You are covered in fresh bruises, each new day worse than the previous. I can't ignore this."

"You have to!" she snapped, throwing her arms back to her sides. "I am no longer asking you kindly to turn a blind eye, I am imploring you. I don't think you understand what this could do to me."

Jūshirō glanced over his shoulder quickly after hearing voices fast approaching and reached for her hand. He sprinted forward, tugging her along, and pushed her gently into the nearest empty room. She jerked her hand free of his slight grasp and stumbled backward until her back hit the nearest couch.

"What are you trying to accomplish?"

"Please lower your voice."

She grimaced, stepping forward until she was standing face to face with him furiously. Her actions called back a feeling of bitterness, one she openly ignored.

"Please don't," she said strongly. "Asking this of me—you can't ask this of me. You can't."

He reached both hands to her shoulders, causing her to flinch instinctively. His gaze softened and instead of grabbing her shoulders for assurance, he dropped his arms back to his sides. There was fear scrawled over her expression, blue eyes wide and lips twisted.

"I can help you," he started softly.

She shook her head, taking two steps away.

"Let me help you."

She continued further back until she fumbled into a seat, holding her face in her hands. "Stop. Please stop this. Stop trying to help someone like me. I don't deserve your kindness."

_How can I…?_

Jūshirō didn't move any closer to her, though he felt the inclination to do so, he understood keeping his distant meant more. The woman curling over herself was wounded and fragile. She wanted to disappear until there was no trace of her existence. There was too much pain. He could only image the things that man had put her through during those long years of her absence in society.

"Why?"

Rovina's shoulders slumped and she took a shuddering breath. "I swore to love him unconditionally—good and bad. I swore under God that he would be the only man that I would cherish…and I—I tried my best to be good."

He listened to the sound of her broken voice without interruptions.

"…He has never loved me. He has never tried to be a good husband, has only managed to be worse," she said, lifting her face to reveal twin trails of tears dripping from her chin. "He is unfaithful. He is chauvinistic. He is unfair. He is rotten. He hates me. He hates me and I don't understand what I have done to deserve this. Am I too noisy? Too stubborn? Too demanding? Have I failed him…somehow?"

She shook her head, taking a moment to breathe.

"He has destroyed my life, yet I cling to him. I don't care for this title. I don't want these luxuries. All I wanted was happiness, even if it wasn't real. I would not have cared for his infidelities or his ridicules, if he could have simply said he loved me each and every time. For all our years of marriage, I have tried everything I could to make him love me, but he will not."

Rovina grew up knowing she would marry the Duke of Cambridge. Her mother assured her love would blossom after marriage, always aware that the affections between the two nobles were purely one-sided. It was safe to admit that she had no choice but to fall in love with Elliot's charm because she was never allowed to look at any other man but him.

The only thing marriage brought them had been misery. Elliot never tried. Rovina carried the weight of the relationship by herself, hoping her efforts would begin to pay off as their union progressed. Soon months turned to years and Elliot asked her to leave Thornepike Manor for the private manor in London. He couldn't stand her presence, couldn't invite his women over knowing his wife would appear to throw them out. He sent her away before he took drastic measures.

She tried to live happily away from her broken marriage, but held up appearances by spouting lies. There was nothing able to save this marriage. It was obvious then, but she was in denial.

There would be a moment in which Elliot would need her, she told herself. He would definitely realize her worth. He would see that her love for him was limitless and would in turn, fall in love with her perseverance. He might consider it endearing. It might be something different, but he would love her unconditionally.

But fantasy was fantasy, nothing more.

Rovina learned it slowly through the intimate conversations she shared with Layla, who listened without once judging her. She could always spill her deepest darkest secrets to the woman, knowing they will reach no other's ears. Listening to herself speak her emotions and situations, brought her closer to reality and somewhere along that slightly illuminated road, she met kindness.

Understanding true warmth, experiencing the sort of happiness that filters through one's veins like a touch of electricity and keeps one euphoric, feeling the type of gentle brush of skin that bubbled her insides and made a dead heart jolt back to life—she felt this with Jūshirō Ukitake. Recalling the touch of a man that was not her husband night after night—remembering the moment his fingers touched the skin of her forehead as they pushed away strands of red hair—it was he.

For the first time in years, she was filled with life.

Elliot noticed soon after.

"…I have not been good to Elliot for three years."

Rovina looked at him accusingly, his silence killing her.

Jūshirō strode closer and leaned into the couch, looking to her with a careful gaze. "You could not have done anything wrong."

"I did," she whispered painfully. "I knew I shouldn't have accepted your invitation that summer."

His expression gave away his knowledge of said accusation.

"I felt something that summer, something I had never experienced in my years of life or throughout my marriage."

It had been a peaceful evening with a dark sky dotted with beautiful stars when Jūshirō had invited her to his rented home in England. He had given her a short tour, he played the piano while she tried to sing—they were both off key—and after the laughter subsided, he asked if she wanted to have one last glass of wine in the balcony. The scenery was beautiful, so they talked very little.

The events preceding that moment had set the mood.

They were lost in their shared silence when his fingers gently laced with hers. His hand was warm. As she glanced in his direction, she caught him staring at her with a forlorn expression and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

It was perfect.

She thought their hands fit together quite perfectly before she realized her mistake and jerked her hand from his grasp. They came barreling back into reality and each excused their actions before Jūshirō returned to his home.

"Something…?"

Rovina's face burned twenty shades of red as she rose to her feet. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

Jūshirō was stunned.

She wiped her face hastily. "Forget I said this," she whispered, rushing past him. "I have to go."

He reached for her hand reflexively, relieved that he managed to catch her. "Wait."

She faced him with bloodshot eyes and fresh tears tumbling down her cheeks. She didn't budge, fingers curling into her palm. "W-What?"

"Wait," he said again. "Don't leave."

"Why?"

His cheeks reddened as he straightened out as he gently curled his fingers over hers. "I don't have an appropriate reason," he admitted shamefully. "I want to stay besides you longer, if only for a moment…"

Rovina felt her heart thumping wildly in her ribcage. She was starting to feel that rush of emotion again, slowly at first—hesitantly. The tension in her shoulders lessened as she took a step closer to him and nodded, swallowing her uncertainty.

He smiled, relieved. "I'm sorry."

"No," she muttered. "I am. I have showed a horrible side of myself to you this afternoon."

"It isn't wrong, Rovina," he said with a shake of his head, eyes full of concern. "Let me help you."

"Elliot won't let me."

"He will have to," he said firmly.

As foreign as those words sounded to her, she couldn't help but warm up to their sincerity. She wondered if helping her was simply an obligation for him. He learned about her pain and suffering and as a true gentleman couldn't stand the thought of a lady having to go through that. It had to be done.

Is that what he felt?

There was no other plausible reason.

She nodded wordlessly, lowering her head.

"…Can I hold you?" he asked after a long silence.

She said nothing and closed the distance between them, allowing him to wrap his arms around her slim form carefully. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath; the smell of his cologne filled her. It frightened her to acknowledge how easily a soothing calm took her. She drew her arms closer to her chest when she felt him rest his chin atop her head.

Rovina stared absently at a lurid decorative vase sitting beside an ancient grandfather clock that seemed to have stopped working years ago. Assorted flowers covered the well-polished surface, few were budding, but the others were fully matured. There were thick lines that separated one from the other until they formed various shapes.

For what felt like an eternity, she had thought of nothing. She merely stared at that ugly mismatched vase while listening to the thump of Jūshirō's heart. His grip did not tighten and the embrace held no other emotion save the comfort and peace it allowed her.

When all zealous sentiments subsided, Jūshirō pulled his arms from her body and she lifted her face to him. Blue eyes calm, bruises faded against her pale skin, strands of red hair twined about her face and even as she was, there was no denying any rumors of her beauty. There was something different about her, in the atmosphere surrounding her.

"I will speak to Elliot," she said firmly. "I think I should speak to him."

Jūshirō nodded assuredly. As uncertain as he felt about letting Rovina do so, he had no place standing in the middle of a failed marriage. There were things better left settled between the couple. He would be worried, of course, but somehow he knew that there was no need to voice his apprehension. Rovina understood it well enough as she took his hand gently and squeezed it reassuringly.

"You should not worry. Elliot will not attempt against me with so many people around."

He couldn't believe the emptiness in her expression. He had grown used to watching her face light up when she spoke of her husband when they had first pursued a friendship. She spoke of her husband so fondly it truly shocked him to recognize the man had been the reason for all her bruises and her constant denial. Even now, there existed the possibility she was still fooling herself with a subject without compromise.

"I am still worried."

She smiled faintly, fidgeting as she imagined the outcome of that dangerous situation. "But you will help, no?"

"Yes," he replied earnestly. "I will do anything."

"I don't wish to return to Thornepike Manor with Elliot. If I do, he will eventually kill me…"

"Come with me. I can keep you safe."

She blinked, surprised. "Wouldn't that look wrong…? Our alliances are different."

"We can contact Starrk. He shouldn't object."

"I will write to him," she concluded with a slight nod. "It will only be for a bit, I promise. I suppose that if I disappear suddenly, Elliot will automatically interrogate my family. It is best if they know nothing of my reasons beforehand. I will go to my eldest brother. He will protect me."

There was something admirable about her. He couldn't quite identify it, but it was blinking ever present as she laid out her plans, and he agreed with every one of her decisions. She was surprisingly meticulous.

Rovina excused herself at the end of the conversation and crossed the room only to stop before the entrance. Her stomach had twisted into knots and there was a dark cloud forming over her head. Anxiety set in quickly at the thought of confronting Elliot for the last time. She swore to herself at that moment that she wouldn't allow his abuse to manipulate her into seclusion and force her into this ever-frightened mentality. He had crossed many boundaries, but the one she recalled in such vivid detail was unpardonable and it fueled her decision.

It appeared inside her mind's eye as she stared listlessly at that ugly vase. She remembered the sharp pain in her abdomen late that evening as she hid in the library of Thornepike Manor. Elliot was stomping through the corridors, calling her name vehemently, asking her to show her face so that he could finish what he began. Her hands were shaking as the tears continued their downpour across her face and the pain of her cuts and bruises was overshadowed by a sharp ache in her stomach that shook her body.

Her breathing turned haggard as she felt blood pooling underneath her with every throb. She held her abdomen strongly, whispering desperately, _"No, no, no, no, please God, no—_" A painful moan escaped her lips as she huffed at the stretch of another ache. _"I can't—please."_

It hurt more than Elliot's abuse.

The painful reality stabbed through her heart.

It was the one moment in a streak of humiliations and abuse that she could never forgive. It was then, at that instant, that she developed a deep hatred for Elliot and a tiny, hidden part of her wished for his death. But even if Elliot died, it could not return the life of the child he took.

_Why have I been so scared?_

* * *

Rovina began second-guessing her decision to confront Elliot that evening. A tranquil hush had fallen between them as she finished removing the powder disguising the purplish bruises decorating her ghostly skin and Elliot stood by a short candle, turning page after page of a book lying flat over the surface of the table. He hadn't spoken to her since he entered the bedroom a few minutes ago with a messy necktie and unruly hair. She could smell a dainty scent coming from him—the scent of a woman.

"Have you been enjoying yourself Rovina?"

She blinked, perplexed, but remained silent as she started brushing the knots out of her hair.

Elliot turned his face in her directions, eyebrows knitted in annoyance. "Well?"

"I suppose it's a nice change from underneath the library table," she said effortlessly, starting to braid her hair over her shoulder. "I am given the luxury of culinary delights and allowed to reacquaint with my old friends, who do nothing but pester me about my three year absence as if they truly care."

He snorted. "Your sense of humor is horrible."

"I am not trying to humor you," she admonished, tying a ribbon to hold together her hair. "I am speaking to you quite seriously."

Elliot slammed the book shut with a bothered grunt. "Is this about the morning?" he said accusingly. "I already apologized for hitting you, but you understand when you throw your tantrums…."

Rovina rose from her seat, holding a warm coat tight around the nightgown. "I want a divorce."

She watched a calm rage don over his handsome face. "No."

"I am willing to compromise," she continued persistently. "I will leave you with my properties and fortunes. I will leave Thornepike Manor with only the clothes on my back and renounce to every piece of jewelry you have given to me over the years."

"I am uninterested."

"If our marriage persists, I will die."

"Ro, there are—"

"Please call me Rovina."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "You can't honestly expect to survive without a title."

"I can try."

He laughed mockingly. "Are you trying to make me angry?"

"I don't care what emotion possesses you," she snapped. "I want my freedom."

"No," he stared furiously. "Absolutely not." He stepped forward dauntingly, forcing her to back away with a flinch. "You belong to me, whether you like it or not."

"I have never belonged to you!" she cried hotly. "I will _never _belong to you."

Elliot snapped, knocking her backward with a strong slap across the face. Her body crashed hard into a nearby desk. She took a deep breath and whipped around to face him, eyes wide with fury.

"Shut up!" he shouted. "Shut up! You understand nothing!"

Her cheek reddened and stung, eyes tearing at the corners. "You are never satisfied Elliot!" she retorted. "You humiliated me on a daily basis for over three years and have cursed my existence for far longer. You accused me of being unable to conceive to continue your debauchery, which I, like a good wife, ignored for the sake of pleasing you!" Her voice had started to break. "But the moment I carried our child, you took him away from me without taking pity or feeling remorse for any of your actions!"

Elliot raised his hand once more, threateningly, but even with tears running down her face, she didn't recoil. "That was entirely your fault."

"You could have killed me!" she screeched, hand curling over a heavy candlestick.

"You should have died!"

Rovina summed up the courage she lacked for the past three years and in one swift movement smashed the heavy object over the side of Elliot's head. She used all her strength, driven by the hatred that had intensified the moment she realized the child she had carried for a mere two months had died prematurely and tried to bash his head in. He fell on his back hard, hand shooting up to his wounded head as he curled into himself.

She tossed the candlestick onto the carpeted ground, taking a calming breath to keep her hands clean.

"Elliot, listen to me," she started easily as she watched him roll around in agony, cursing her very existence. "I am leaving."

"What is wrong with you?" he groaned painfully.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, staring down at the blood running down Elliot's jaw with a blank expression. She felt nothing.

"Please give me my freedom."

"The only way you're getting that divorce is dead!" he shouted, taken by vertigo as he tried focusing on her.

Rovina didn't wait another moment. She gathered as little things as she possibly could and stuffed them into a bag before she slipped out of the room. Elliot threatened her all the way out into the hallway, his voice continued bleeding into the corridor until she headed downstairs lithely. She took a sharp turn into another direction, hearing the sound of doors opening noisily and the murmur of complaints.

She appeared in front of Jūshirō Ukitake's bedroom and knocked loudly against the doorframe. It took a few minutes before the man pulled open the door with a sleepy gaze. He stifled a yawn when he laid eyes on her.

"Rovina…?"

Her cheek was reddened, hair slightly disheveled, and eyes all cried out.

"I spoke to him," she said evenly. "He will not divorce me."

He blinked. "What?"

"He threatened to kill me," she continued in the same breath, ready to unload the bottled up emotions. "He has almost killed me on numerous occasions and he killed my unborn child. He has kept me locked in an unsanitary room in Thornepike manor and hosts events where he publically humiliates me. I have endured many wrongs for a right that has never existed. He may think this is a joke, but I have no love left to spare."

Jūshirō reached to place a hand over her arm tentatively. "Rovina…stop…"

A warm tear rolled down her cheek. She thought she had been all cried out, but apparently, her tears were endless.

"I need to be saved," she whispered brokenly. "I want to be saved."

The doctor looked down each hall before pulling the duchess into his arms and slamming the door shut. He felt her hands grip onto the back of his loose top and face bury into his chest with a sob. He cradled her head in one hand and wrapped his other arm around her trembling body.

"_Please save me._"

_I don't want to die. I don't want to give up._

"I won't let him come anywhere near you," Jūshirō whispered strongly. "I promise you."

* * *

**Thanks to**: Starfire8001 for reviewing the previous chapter. :)

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

For the first time in months, I managed to finish editing a chapter before midnight. I am quite proud.

The "Brittle Resolve" chapters begin next chapter and follow Starrk.

"Entrust the Heart" will pick up where we've left off here, and while I have all the chapters planned (like completely), I haven't yet decided on the order of events, but they will follow a sort of healing process.

For now, let's find comfort in Starrk and Gwyneth's investigation. :) In the next chapter, you will meet a cast of familiar faces and new characters, particularly a family of three with quite a clever two year old named Emmett.

The next chapter should be up on Christmas. :) Fingers crossed!

Thank you for reading. :3


	46. Brittle Resolve 1

[ II. **Camellia** ]

Five: **_Brittle Resolve I_**

_Memories of her_

_Dreams of them_

_—**together**—_

_Reality and Fantasy_

_Bleeding into a colorful palette;_

_It seems_

_Truth only exists in lies_

* * *

Starrk learned during the lengthy train ride and horseback trek to the countryside that Gwyneth loved to talk. No short or concise answer to her endless questionnaire dissuaded her in the pursuit of constant communication and he couldn't help but find her overbearingly annoying. By the time they arrived to Aizen's countryside manor on their horses, she had asked every question one could possibly ask a complete stranger for proper acquaintance. She answered the same inquiries herself without him having to repeat them. He thought she would never stop talking as he helped her off her horse when a familiar face appeared at the top of the staircase leading into the entrance.

Mina, the old, sagacious housekeeper, greeted both from the top of the stairs. He had not seen the woman since before he left to Vinnlake Hall, but she remembered him perfectly and patted his arm gently as he reached the top of the stairs with Gwyneth rushing behind him, still talking.

"Mr. Harmon should be upstairs in the lord's office," said Mina easily. "I shall have your grace escorted," she nodded in the blond woman's direction, "into the drawing room where I will have tea served and I will take you upstairs to meet Mr. Harmon. Come, this way."

The wrinkled housekeeper led both nobles into the foyer where she proceeded to lead the way into the nearest drawing room branching from one of the winding hallways and left Gwyneth by her lonesome. She ordered a bustling young servant to bring tea and cakes for the duchess to enjoy before she started up the back staircase to Aizen's office with Starrk in tow.

"Have you been in charge of this manor long?"

The silence was too deafening and too awkward for him to remain silent. He figured it was because Mina had been around Layla so long before she passed that as her late husband he couldn't get away with acting aloof and careless around the people that cherished his wife the most. Mina probably knew everything there was to know about her.

"Two years, I believe," said Mina thoughtfully. "I am not very good with time."

Starrk lowered his gaze. "I should not have taken William or Orihime."

"Ah, the noisy children, no, I have enough trouble handling Mia to bother with those two. I heard you have a strict housekeeper in Norfolk."

"Lucie has somehow managed to educate them properly. They are fine adults now."

"That is good to hear." A forlorn expression crossed her face. "I apologize if they were troublesome."

He shook his head, knowing she was hinting at the instant in which he accepted both of their employments. Orihime wanted to be in the house that brought so much happiness to her late mistress and William said Layla asked him to serve him if anything were to happen to her. She always knew something was wrong.

He hated that she kept it to herself.

"They are lively."

A faint smile appeared on Mina's face as they rounded a corner and a new silence fell.

"...Layla—you knew her since she was a child, yes?"

Thoughts of Layla threatened to drive him insane.

"I was asked to care for her from a young age," admitted Mina sincerely.

"…What was she like as a child?"

Mina glanced at him over her shoulder before coming to a halt. "Did you not ask her?"

It never felt right to ask about it. She avoided the subject as well. They skirted all around each other's past, never asking more than primary details. From there, they put together what they could.

Layla must have been a lonely girl—angry and misunderstood. She had witnessed the death of the man that raised her and taken from her mother's arms to live in a world she grew to hate. She preferred freedom.

"…I never wanted to hurt her," he said softly. "It sounded like a difficult situation."

The old housekeeper sighed deeply. "It was difficult, you see…"

.

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The tiny girl spoke broken English with a thick accent.

For nine years, she fluently spoke the gypsy language and grew older knowing nothing outside their strict traditions.

When the earl appeared at the countryside manor, he had both hands rested on the trembling shoulders of a blood soaked girl and with an air of easiness, introduced the child to the servants gathered in the foyer. "This is my eldest," he said calmly. "She is called Layla and will not leave this manor until she makes her debut into society."

…_If you are questioned about her origins, she is Sun-Sun's fraternal twin, the youngest. She is a sickly child unable to leave her home for the sake of her health. She has remained a secret for that reason._

The entire house was sworn to secrecy. Consequences to spreading the news as gossip were obvious, so nobody dared speak a word.

"Mina."

The woman glanced up behind a fringe of dark hair. "Yes, my lord?"

"Layla will be in your care. Have her bathed and clothed in time for dinner."

She bowed respectfully, reaching for the girl, who seemed adamant in stepping further into the manor. "Yes my lord."

The girl called Layla did not respond to that name and she hated with every fiber of her being staying in the house of this strange man claiming to be her father. The gypsy girl only knew one father. His name was Vandlo and he was dead thanks to the bullet the earl put through his head.

That first night had been painful to endure. Instead of enjoying the lush mattress of a gargantuan new bed, the girl slept in front of the fireplace muttering underneath her breath in a language foreign to her servant's ears, shedding large tears that soaked into the mat. She refused to eat the following morning, as she had that evening for dinner. Mentally, she rejected everything. Her stomach acted on instinct, forcing whatever came down right back up until she fell ill.

Sadness threatened to take her as nightmares began to plague her sleep. Physicians found nothing wrong with her and encouraged Mina to feed her properly. When Layla could no longer keep her eyes open, the earl took a seat at her bedside.

It was then that Mina realized there was no mistaking it. The child was his. Likeliness in their eyes, the brown hue enhanced by various lighter shades, and something she learned further into the girl's education.

Layla spoke to him pleadingly in her foreign tongue, crying whatever tears she could muster.

"…_You will not be harmed here. Trust me Aishe,_" he told her in that strange language. "_You won't be hurt by your mother._"

Mina came to understand those words later when Layla turned thirteen and she agreed to teach the woman the Romani language. Those memories had been engraved in her mind for the long five years that had passed since that night when her lord showed an emotion that was once foreign to everyone.

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"…I think Layla's sadness overturned that evening, but it was temporary."

"Did Jaelle hurt Layla…?" said Starrk, perplexed with the progression of the story's introduction.

A pair of steps halted behind the old housekeeper and Rye appeared, smartly dressed, with messily styled hair. He had matured since the last time they met. His skin was slightly tanned, cropped raven hair that fell over his bright hued eyes, and exuded an educated air that contradicted his gypsy teachings.

"Jaelle sold Aishe to a whorehouse," Rye said knowingly. "The caravan needed money at the time and there was no room for a child of mixed blood, not even if kindness brought her into the tribe. Being the self-sacrificial woman that Jaelle is, she took Aishe to the whorehouse and met with the owner who took an instant liking to her exotic looks. He paid her upfront and after she bargained with him, he gave her a few hours to say her goodbyes. She never realized her first mistake had been entering every establishment available. She created a trail that made it easier for the earl to find Aishe."

"Why would that man trust her with the money?"

"Interestingly enough, they had done business before and he found her reliable. He never thought she would flee."

Starrk's eyebrows furrowed. "So, Jaelle fled to avoid a guilty conscious?"

"Wrong. Jaelle ran because she wasn't willing to return the money. She had the opportunity to marry the earl years ago, but she had her pride and refused. The regret of losing such an opportunity weighed heavily on her, but then again, she couldn't saunter back into his life either. He threatened to kill her. Leaving England was her best option."

"Is there a reason why he is keeping her around under an alias?"

Rye smiled easily at Mina. "I can tell him the rest of the story, ma'am."

The housekeeper bowed and excused herself.

"There is a probability that Jaelle knows whether or not Aishe is alive. She has close ties to the Fourth Family. In fact, she is the one to blame for Aishe's capture outside Norfolk. There was no telling where the two of you ran off to considering you keep no close ties, but Aishe had written a letter to her. The correspondence revealed your current stay."

"How could she do—?"

"Simply, she's rotten and set on destroying the earl's empire for her own selfish measures."

"Why would she betray Layla? All she ever wanted was to be with her mother. She accepted to inherit the Aizen family to be able to see that woman." He felt strongly. It was a persevering ache that made him sick to the stomach. "She was so happy."

"I can't believe you haven't figured it out yet," said Rye with a shake of his head. "Aishe is the earl's weakness."

"Is that any reason to use her?"

"If it's the only means to do so, Jaelle will use it."

Starrk might have surely been unable to stomach the mere thought of someone's mother being so callous with her children and that she would go as far as taking her daughter to tour a strip of whorehouses to sell her. It was inhumane. Those words contradicted everything Layla had told him during their travels to Norfolk. Layla spoke wonders about the woman and when he first met her, he figured she wasn't exaggerating at all. There was something charming about Jaelle that reminded him of Layla.

Rye took a deep breath and stepped back as he wheeled towards the other end of the corridor. "Well, we should continue this inside the office," he said, when the rush of footsteps reached their ears. "Ah."

"Emmett stop running in the hall!" cried Mia as she barreled down the hallway behind a red haired child. "Emmett!"

The boy rushed past the two adults before he jerked around in realization and latched onto Rye's feet. "You're back!"

Mia appeared at their side with batted breath. "I'm so sorry about him. The cook gave him something sweet and he's been—" She immediately noticed Starrk and nearly cried out for forgetting her manners. She curtsied worrisomely. "Welcome to the Aizen manor, your grace."

Starrk smiled. "How is Vinny?"

Emmett stared at the strange man irritably at the mere mention of his dog's name.

"He's wonderful. I do think he's roaming the house somewhere," a reproachful look crossed her features as she looked to the boy by Rye's feet, "because Emmett wouldn't listen when I asked him not to let Vinny out."

"_Lügner!_" accused Emmett, tugging at Rye's coat.

"Be kind to Mia," eased Rye as he bent down to hoist the boy into his arms. "She takes very good care of you."

Emmett frowned disapprovingly, but managed a curt, "_Entschuldigung._"

Mia furrowed her eyes in confusion.

"He said he's sorry," replied Starrk simply, taking in the sudden look of astonishment in everyone's face. "Layla wanted me to learn German."

"German can be a difficult language," admitted Rye, he excused the blond servant with a single gesture.

"It is, but she was a good teacher."

Emmett cupped a hand over Rye's ear and whispered something to him. Rye's face immediately lit up and he let a chuckle escape as he stared at the young boy. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"He stranger," grumbled the boy childishly, shooting glances at Starrk.

"Well, that's horrible of me, I forgot introductions," remarked Rye suddenly. "This is Emmett. Emmett meet the Duke of Norwich."

"Coyote Starrk," he introduced.

"Coyote ist funny name," stated Emmett smartly.

"I had ill-humored parents. Just call me Starrk, like everyone else."

The tiny boy frowned. "Starrk ist no better."

"Don't be rude, Emmett! Your mother taught you better and she'd like you to treat the duke kindly."

Emmett suddenly grew excitedly bouncy. "_Mutti _came!"

Rye's expression changed dramatically. "What?"

"_Ja_, _mutti_ came at night. She tucked me in bed and tolds me a stowy 'bout her adventures! She says she is dancing with the gypsies ans with _Onkel_ Johann. She showed me her pretty dress too! She looked so pretty! You should have seen her!"

"B-But that's impossible. We don't know where Franziska is," explained Rye nervously. He set the boy on the ground and patted his unkempt waves of fiery hair. Large glass-like eyes stared back at him, hopeful. "Franziska is missing."

"_Mutti _came," persisted the boy.

"Emmett please run back to Mia, play hide and seek with her. I have to speak to the duke."

Emmett nodded obediently, bid farewell to the duke, and scampered off in search of his servant.

"Is he the earl's son?" asked Starrk after a moment of silence.

"No, he is not. He is a relative of the earl's, son of Franziska and Johann von Ulrich. They are distant relatives. Second cousins twice removed or something insanely complicated."

"…He called him uncle."

"His mother remarried recently. She doesn't force the child to call him father and Emmett took a liking to him as an uncle."

Emmett came rushing back into the hallway. "Johann isn't married to _mutti_! _Mutti _is _opa_'s somting!"

"What did I tell you about nonsensical arguments?" protested Rye, moving past Starrk with a quick, "Excuse me."

"I don't understand."

"Your first statement is irrelevant to your follow up," he explained, crouching down in front of the skeptical boy. "You can't say Johann isn't married to _mutti_."

"He ist no married _mutti. _He ist _onkel,_" remarked Emmett smartly. "_Onkel _watches _mutti._"

"I understand," said Rye, careful about upsetting the tiny boy. "Now, why would you say your _mutti _is your _opa's—_?"

"Baby! She is, right?" He brightened. "That its why _opa _lets us stay in house. He says ist home."

Rye sighed in resignation. He shouldn't have bothered exercising the boy's understanding of the English language. German was his primary language, though his mother Franziska was well versed in various languages, though her preferred tongue was English. He found it hard to understand why she decided to teach him German…

"Emmett."

"What?"

"I'm curious," he started, feeling the need to ask. "Why did your mother teach you German?"

Emmett stared at him grimly before inching forward to whisper his response, "_Mutti _says monsters can't understand German."

Rye's face darkened. "Please find Mia and stop eavesdropping. Go now."

"Bye _onkel_! Can we play later?"

"Yes, so be good!" He shot a glance at the baffled duke. "Emmett is under the impression that everyone living underneath this roof is related. The earl wasn't happy with being called grandfather when Emmett deemed his age worthy of the title."

Starrk couldn't help but wonder how old Aizen really was. It almost felt like he didn't age as the other family leaders did and they had been enemies long before the three-year treaty.

Rye returned to lead the duke into Aizen's office were most of the information concerning Layla was filed. He allowed Starrk to step into the room first before he strode inside afterward, closing the door behind him. He walked toward a row of bookshelves to the far left, gesturing for the duke to follow. He tugged out a heavy book from the top shelf that looked to be one document short of exploding.

"Here."

Starrk took the heavy book compliantly as Rye heaved a larger volume toward the nearby desk. He took the load off Starrk's hands and arranged the two volumes side to side.

"This is three years' worth of investigation," started Rye seriously. "I have tracked down and spoken to as many individuals I discovered have ties to the accident at the Wedgeworth private manor. I acquired the names of the party that gathered there and did background checks on each. There are five men of interest." The tanned male pushed open the first book and flipped over to the first step. "The first, Theobald Bakalov, is a Bulgarian Baron who is the rumored owner of the Nocturne."

He allowed Starrk to read into the neatly scribbled information sitting between the pages.

"I have never heard of Nocturne," admitted Starrk, blinking in confusion. He had heard about Bakalov, but his mind blanked at the mention. He heard nothing apart from the scandal he had been involved with around the time his wife demanded a public divorce, which never went through.

"I am not surprised," replied Rye. "I was under the impression it was a big joke. No matter where I looked, I found this driving me insane. Nocturne became a figment of my imagination." He shrugged his shoulders, flipping the page to a detailed report on Nocturne, a whorehouse. "It exists; apparently, one needs to receive an invitation."

"How does one get an invitation?"

"That is where the Duchess of Warwick comes in," he said quickly. "The Stanton name goes particularly far when it comes to this sort of businesses. She can acquire an invitation using her business connections. Her involvement is imperative to finding Layla. If anyone comes to understand that you are both working in a partnership, we may not learn of my sister's whereabouts. Nocturne was unknown to me because I approached them with Aizen's influence, once my loyalty was discarded, Bakalov provided me with a free pass."

"Shouldn't Gwyneth be here as well?"

"I dislike speaking to the beneficiary," remarked Rye callously. "You only need inform her of what's necessary. Do not speak so carelessly of our world. A woman like Gwyneth, even if she is the daughter of a drug lord, is too soft hearted and there is no need for her to become an impediment."

"Understandable."

"Bakalov is quite chatty. If you manage to strike a conversation of his fancy, or wait until he is undeniably inebriated, you will gain the access that links him to the other four nobles involved. Compliment his business, talk about his women. There is nothing he likes more than speaking of himself. I have done my homework, trust me, but he did not relinquish the information to me."

"I will."

Rye cleared his throat. "Bakalov is the easiest to reach. For the following four, you will need him to give you information on where to search for them. I don't have locations. They moved after the Wedgeworth incident and have proven to be particularly sly."

"Do you suppose they have Wedgeworth and Bentley's help?"

"No. That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Bentley is dead, his body was found buried. And Wedgeworth has not been seen in three years. I suspect he is also dead."

The shock struck late. "What?"

"Layla's disappearance or death was not caused by them, but by another," he said immediately. "There is another person. This individual helped relocate these five nobles—why do you think?"

"They are witnesses to the crime. The rational thing to do is scatter the witnesses. There must be someone in the group that would automatically spill if his life were in danger. They're trying to keep them quiet."

"Exactly. Now, taking Layla's worth into consideration, no one in the right mind would kill her. She would be taken prisoner and used for her information. She was better versed, after all."

"You don't think she's dead?"

"The Fourth Family had plans to execute her and use your information network after capturing you by using Layla as ransom," explained Rye thoroughly. "But Layla would likely inform them of her connections to keep herself alive temporarily. She wouldn't dare betray her father. Surely there is someone within the Fourth Family willing to keep her alive, even if she refuses to divulge information to end the reign of your respective families."

No thought went into Starrk's response, hands fisting, and his eyes flashed with a unkempt bitterness. "Douglas Gray."

"The Queen's representative?" Rye looked baffled for a moment before he found composure. "I heard of him. He hasn't been tending to his usual duties for the past three years. I tracked him as well; he's an important member of the Fourth Family."

"The times should line up if he has been missing for the same amount of years she was. I should have known from the start," growled Starrk, growing increasingly impatient with the notion. Impulse attempted to fight its way past his better judgment. "If Douglas Gray is involved, Layla_ is_ alive."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Call it a hunch."

* * *

**German Translations**:

Mutti - mummy  
Ja - Yes  
Opa - Grandfather  
Lügner - Liar  
Entschuldigung - Sorry  
Onkel - Uncle

* * *

**Thanks to**: starfire8001 and ookawa for reviewing the previous chapter. :)

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Thank you for reading, first of all.

Second, Merry Christmas!

Third, the spelling mistakes in Emmett's dialogue was purely intentional. I don't have a three year old to study, so I decided to remember the speech capabilites of every niece and nephew I had that has been three at one point in their life (and are now preteens or teenagers). That and he's learning a foreign language. His speaking patterns will be odd for quite a bit. I am taking a risk with the dialogue, but that's sort of how my nephews talk. XD

Fourth, good ol' Douglas Gray might be up to no good, bet ya'll were jus' waiting for him to show his ugly face again.

A lot went on in this chapter, though nothing really happened action-wise. These conversations were eye opening. Whether they are truth or lies is up to the reader. I am sword to secrecy. Hehe.

I added Emmett because he's going to be the happiness of this story because this is only going to get worse before it gets better. And I mean worse. I am setting the stage for complete utter disaster and I am prepared to be hated! That is saying a lot. Emmett is also there because his story ties in to the last of part 2 and part 3 (which will be here before you know it). Franziska and Johann are also imperative, at least to later events.

The next chapter will shine some light on a part of Starrk I saved until this moment that makes Layla special for accepting this. Ha! Now I've got you paranoid.

I'll probably see you on New Years! No promises, but I'm sure the chapter will write itself. Seriously. These do that sort of thing.


	47. Brittle Resolve 2

[II. **Camellia**]

Six: _**Brittle Resolve II**_

_The boy at the edge of despair_

_Wanders the darkness desperately._

_The girl at the bottom of the sea_

_Looks to the glittering surface hollowly._

* * *

"Emmett!" bellowed Mia at the foot of the staircase. Gwyneth had a knack for remembering voices and names; she briefly acquainted herself with the young woman as she searched the parlor for any sign of her charge, a mischievous child that enjoyed playing hide-and-seek with his caretakers, without their knowledge apparently. "You haven't the time to play hide-and-seek; you are to eat lunch."

"I vant to find Vinny!" cried a childish voice from the upper floor. "Get him for me!"

"You lost him, you find him!"

"Ahncle!" whined the boy, rushing footsteps swept over the ceiling of the parlor. "Mia ist being mean!"

"Don't you dare!" Mia's voice resonated in the outer corridor and the creak of the floorboards followed as she sprinted up the staircase in the hopes of capturing the child before he interrupted his uncle's important meeting. "Emmett!"

Gwyneth Gervais, Duchess of Warwick, snorted into her teacup and fought the urge to laugh aloud. For the past half hour, she eyed a fancy vase sitting across the room made of what she suspected might be pure gold—desperately trying to pass the time quickly. It amazed her to discover the Aizen countryside manor comprised of pricey decorations, but admitted mentally that she somehow expected the family to be so rich that lavishly decorating their home with unique ornate vases, specifically designed furniture, paintings impossible to acquire form the best artists around the world, or the finest china was natural.

Gwyneth fawned over the tea set brought to accommodate her and bombarded a bashful maid with questions on how to acquire such beautiful handiwork. Unfortunately, her abrasive nature scared off the poor girl, leaving the duchess once more in the silent parlor that reminded her of the old, bitter Stanton home, until Mia and young Emmett's voice had flooded in.

In a matter of seconds, Gwyneth was once more engulfed in complete silence save the clank of the silver spoon she used to mix another sugar cube into her tea.

Several minutes passed before Mia called out from behind the parlor's tightly shut doors. Gwyneth set her cup upon the table, wiped her mouth quickly, and straightened her back, beckoning the young servant into the room. Half expecting to see the boy who had been causing a ruckus, Gwyneth felt a twinge of disappointment to greet the blond, uniformed woman alone.

"Forgive the intrusion," said Mia with a bowed head, and raised it to catch the duchess' curious gaze, "but the Duke of Norwich has asked me to keep you company, mentioned you might be in dire need to speak to another."

Gwyneth's face lit up. "That is very thoughtful of him; I would very much appreciate your company, Mia."

Mia closed the twin doors behind her and dodged around the seating are before she plopped down in the plush loveseat across the duchess. She smiled awkwardly; perhaps new to conversing with new people, the idea delighted Gwyneth.

"Are you the caretaker of the earl's child?" asked Gwyneth, brimming with curiosity.

Mia looked perplexed. "Oh?" she sputtered. "Do you mean Emmett?"

"Yes, I heard his uproar, he is quite amusing. How old is he?"

Mia calmly digested the inquiry. "Three," she said. "I am quite amazed how troublesome he is at three, but he is not the earl's child."

"Here I expected a scandalous new affair had produced a child," laughed Gwyneth, jokingly. "You never quite know enough about the earl, he is quite a mystery. Is the boy a relative? The son of his brothers or sisters?"

"Not brothers, your grace, Emmett is his second cousin's son. Franziska von Ulrich," said Mia carefully. "You must have heard her name at some point. She is quite famous these days, almost amazes me actually."

Gwyneth nodded excitedly. "German nobility, yes?" Mia nodded. "I see. She's left Emmett in your care while away on duty."

Franziska and Johann von Ulrich had become a hot topic among nobility, relatives to the elusive earl and owners of a trading company that served to distribute "black market" material to various countries around the world, of course only a select few knew that truth. When her father lived, he had a concrete deal with them, thus earning the Stanton family a place among the Aizen beneficiary. The arrangements her father made have since been passed down to Jasper and since the couple made frequent visits to him, she knew quite a bit. Gwyneth never had the pleasure of meeting either, but did see Franziska departing Willowside Castle when her home underwent change for the winter gala. Jasper arrived early to help Constantine with invitations, though Gwyneth knew what women to invite, the newly settled Frenchman had troubles distinguishing good guests from bad, thus Jasper arrived to save him.

Franziska surprised Jasper with a visit; he looked a tad frantic upon receiving the news. He asked the steward to escort Franziska to the upstairs office and excused himself from Constantine's presence.

Gwyneth had exited the kitchen, heading upstairs to search her new gowns for the perfect dress when she noticed both Jasper and an unknown woman going downstairs in complete silence. She only managed to catch a glimpse of her grim features and billowing hair red hair. She was tall and slim with beautiful skin and gold bangles clanking on her wrists. Nobody outside business affairs ever came into close contact with Franziska or Johann, though her golden haired husband was more often spotted traveling throughout England.

Gossipers spoke ill of the two because they declined all invitations to any sort of festive gala or a cup of tea inside their gaudy sitting rooms. They never greeted those that attempted to strike up a conversation and spent much of their time holed up in their temporary London home.

"It must be lonely for him," said Gwyneth suddenly, the thought of Franziska and Johann constantly moving around made her wonder aloud. The servant, looking startled, awaited elaboration. "He is only three; his parents are being careless, are they not? Leaving him behind like this, forcing him to wait and live without having a mother to run to for comfort or a father to play with."

The incredulity etched in Mia's passive countenance blazed, distorted into a look of pure repugnance. She rose from her seat, hands shaking at her sides.

"Franziska is not being careless, she is protecting that child," she snapped, trotting towards the doorway.

Gwyneth jumped to her feet, feeling incredibly stupid. "I shouldn't have—"

"Do not speak of subjects outside your understanding, _your grace_." Mia pushed open the doors, nearly hitting Starrk and a dark skinned male she assumed to be Rye Harmon in the face. She spared them scathing looks. "Excuse me!"

Mia disappeared into the corridor, murmuring mutinously beneath her breath.

Starrk and Mr. Harmon stared after the caretaker until she had made an immediate right.

"What did you say to her?" asked Starrk, acknowledging his traveling companion.

"We were speaking about Emmett," said Gwyneth, taking a breath. "I told her I thought it was careless for him to be left behind while his parents travel throughout England; I just thought he needs his family."

Mr. Harmon, though calm, had a sudden air of disapproval. "Sorry, Starrk, I have to speak to Mia." He looked fleetingly in her direction, bowed his head and swiftly departed, retracing Mia's steps down the corridor.

Gwyneth rounded on Starrk unconsciously. "I wasn't aware it would upset her, if I knew I would have not said anything at all, I just thought—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," said Starrk, waving his hand lazily. "Next time, you will know what things not to mention. I came to fetch you, we are leaving."

Her face flushed. "Where?"

"Downtown London," he answered. "You need to acquire an invitation for me."

"Invitation?" The red tint drained from her cheeks, thoughts drawn by the unexpected nudge forward. "To where exactly?"

"Nocturne."

Her expression twisted with understanding.

"I take it you need no explanation."

Gwyneth nodded numbly, and then shook her head, gathering her thoughts and wiped the stupid look off her face. "Why do you want to go there? It's a gathering of repulsive perverts—"

"You shouldn't judge one's preferences, Gwyneth."

A shock of emotion lurched in her stomach, blinking dumbly at the slight grin on his face. He said nothing afterward, simply led the way to the exit where the housekeeper bid them farewell. Gwyneth followed quietly, deciding it in her best interest to avoid questioning everything about the journey.

She walked out the gravel road before the manor, stopping only when he paused midway towards their carriage. Boisterous laugher traveled in the air and she searched for the source of noise to find a boy chasing a white dog in the garden. Blazing red hair, a gentle but watchful gaze, and a face exploding with laughter, the boy tumbled in the ground, allowing the small dog to jump over his small frame with a joyful bark.

Watching the boy, Gwyneth understood the mistake she had made indoors. Emmett did not seem like the sort of child abandoned by his parents, he was a boy loved by them enough to surround him with others willing to love and cherish him just as much.

"Pardon the intrusiveness," said Gwyneth, noticing Starrk watch the boy intently, "but did you have children—?"

"She would have been two," he said absently.

Gwyneth expected silence to greet her, but what came in its place was a horrible realization. She touched upon sensitive ground, and yet, her desire to understand fully trumped her self-restraint.

"Was?"

Her voice threatened to falter.

"The child was never born, regrettably."

"But you said _she_…"

"Layla was convinced it was a girl."

"I'm sorry," she said guiltily.

Starrk averted his gaze and fixed it upon her small frame. "Why apologize?"

"I unconsciously do this, it's annoying, honestly, but I can't help ask questions like this," she blabbered, fingers crumpling the fabric of her skirt. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want, just ignore me. I'm just running my mouth anyway."

"I only speak of things already known," he said calmly. "What you don't know is where I draw the line to conversations. Layla is not taboo, if you wish to ask more about her."

Gwyneth nibbled on her bottom lip, tempted to ask further inquiries, but allowed the feeling to subside.

They climbed into the carriage wordlessly and set off towards downtown London, expecting to make a stop at an inn when evening came. He stared out the tiny carriage window listlessly the entire way and she unabashedly resisted the temptation of becoming anything short of annoying. He cast careful glances in her direction, the ghost of a smile on his lips, eyes brimming with amusement, she was an easy book to read, she admitted mentally. He probably knew she wanted to ask all the questions driving her insane, but didn't because they were sensitive.

So no words were spoken.

* * *

The rose clustered garnet ring glinted ominously beneath pale moonlight with its blackened blood rusted along the band. Starrk unknotted his tie, tugged out his shirt, eyes fixed on the square of light of the window facing the deserted streets of a rest town. He devoted the greater portion of his silence to several contemplations, thinking ahead to his meeting with Theobald Bakalov and the sort of information he needed to gather. Ideally, redirecting his attention to Douglas Gray took first priority, but acting rashly and on instinct could potentially ruin any hope he had of finding Layla alive. Starrk could not stand thinking what had become of her in the past three years, but whatever she may have experienced at the hands of that beast—well, the possibilities were nothing short of dreadful.

Starrk trusted Layla would be strong, no matter the situation. Then again, violent images perforated through his skull, pictures—a cross of fantasy and reality—that twisted his insides gauging for a reaction so powerful it bordered asphyxiation. He drew boundaries, subjects to which his delusions were never meant to cross, things he refused to think of. Horrific ideas clotted his brain, making it impossible to sleep, though the night dragged on.

Gwyneth had retired to her room four hours ago. They shared a private dinner at a round table in a small room that joined their rooms, having rented out the most expensive room in the three-story building it came with plush accommodations. The duchess picked at her entrées awkwardly, hazel orbs flickering all around the dimly lit room—a nervous tick, perhaps—and at times, he felt her eyes assessing his expression. She expected him speak, and so, he humored her.

"Do you miss Willowside Castle?" he said tentatively, starting conversations had never been his forte.

He dealt with the anxious pinch at the core of his stomach, pushing it out of his thoughts. If memory served him, engaging Layla had been easiest. Her _eagerness _to converse with him made her surprisingly more approachable. His family's pressure to enamor Aizen's secret daughter—get under her skin, poison her thoughts with memories of him until he was burned into her heart—might have aided the cause. But nothing he did to separate his job from his emotions worked to repel the bubbling desire to keep her for himself. He not once felt odd about engaging her, now he understood the strangeness of it, and admitting it only made him question things he should never.

Gwyneth's eyes drew him out of the misery. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you miss your home?" he repeated, clearing his throat, pausing to consider appropriate reasons. "This is a difficult trip for you, young and married."

"Oh." She looked surprised. Starrk's eyebrows rose, knowing there was something he was not aware of. "I expected you knew, considering your family's background in information and your ties to the Aizen."

"What?"

"My marriage is a sham," she said easily, taking a sip of her wineglass. "My familial situation met complications. My brother was quite young and not exactly versed with our father's _work_, he needed time to acclimate, mature a bit, so many trading companies cut ties with us. We couldn't exactly acquire money to approach another company willing to dip its hand in the drug business, when we were approached by the earl. He told us about his beneficiary, proved that our father had left his negotiations and us in good hands, but that itself did not mean we were saved. Our inheritance had been robbed, you see, our grandfather disowned him, thus we weren't entitled to any property or money as presented in his will."

Gwyneth paused for breath, searching Starrk's inscrutable face, and took a final gulp of wine.

"Knowing well of our situation, the earl offered me a proposal. Marry the current Duke of Burgundy and take the Duchy of Warwickshire," she said with finality. "We would be entitled to plenty of money to continue the business our father left in our hands and my brother would be allowed to keep his title of baron. At the moment, I felt I had no choice but to accept, and thus married Constantine. We are good friends, but I hardly spend time at Warwickshire the entire year I was said to be living there."

"Why would your husband accept Aizen's proposal? Renouncing his duchy in France made headlines, unheard of."

"He simply agreed to join the beneficiary and help whichever way possible. He supplied my brother with enough wealth to continue our father's business. I do believe that is all he has been asked to do." Gwyneth swirled the liquid in her glass with a slight smile. "I agree, though, I don't understand why he willingly left his duchy. I have not yet been informed, there seems to be a moment in which I will be capable of understanding, or so he claims."

"Do you have suppositions?" asked Starrk, intrigued.

"I believe the earl promised him something he desires, other than that, as farfetched as it is—he is quite humble—I can't think of anything that would catch his fancy that he can't already acquire on his own," she admitted quietly. "But much praise to Earl Aizen, he is a genius negotiator. Take the von Ulrichs, they are quite difficult to hire, though I have their agreement with my father to thank for the invitation into the beneficiary."

Again, Starrk could only stare at her perplexed. The longer he spent inside the Aizen family, the more layers of mystery he discovered, he understood why Aizen rose to power so quickly while in his youth.

Gwyneth caught onto his confusion. "I only know what rumors tell me, but they come from a credible source, but apparently the earl had a falling out with his father's side of the family, faulting Franziska. There was bad blood there, nothing could have been done about, details are obscure, so I can't tell you much about the reason to the fight. Then suddenly, the need to acquire a new company for trades arose and in came Franziska and Johann, like nothing, as if they had not spent the last ten years hating each other's guts."

"I never heard of Franziska or Johann since my grandfather partnered with Aizen," he admitted, mindful of the redheaded child rolling around the grass with Layla's dog. "Are you acquainted?"

"Only my brother, sadly, I have only caught a glimpse of Franziska."

_Shame_, Starrk had thought.

A deliberate silence split between them.

"…Does it scare you?"

Starrk fixed his gaze upon Gwyneth, golden hair braided over her shoulder, a look of sincere concern on her face.

"Does what scare me?" he asked quietly.

"…Well, Layla Aizen could still be alive," she said, lit eyes dimming just as quickly as they had brightened, "but she could also be long dead. Does it not frighten you to know such a thing?"

The inquiry tested him throughout the carriage ride, tormented him. He spent an entire year wallowing in faults and regrets, mourning over the unnecessary death of his wife and unborn child. The obsession to snuff out the guilty party crept over him shortly after Rovina forced him out of Penthurst Hall to pay his respects to Layla's grave, and that, henceforth, became the area where he devoted most his time.

He lived three years without Layla, with only the imprint of memory to remind him she existed, and had grown accustomed to that life, busied with familial duties, enduring another fake murder spree the Fourth Family planned to force many to rebel against them—it was their best idea, thus far—and living.

"I haven't considered either option," he said straightly. "Aizen gave me a job, I am simply doing it."

Gwyneth looked taken aback, but even while the happiness had swelled inside him upon realizing Layla may be alive, he felt unsure of what emotions remained.

Three years was long, he never considered that before. He discarded him emotions, casted them aside to take on Aizen's job, as just that. What would happen if he saw her again?

"Do you still love her?" asked Gwyneth edgily.

Starrk's eyes widened, his face blanched. No thoughts reached his brain.

Gwyneth shook her head. "I'm sorry, I said something incredibly stupid, but I just thought you sounded a bit cruel…" She shrunk in her seat timidly. "I think I'd be unhappy if I were Layla, you seemed to have given up already. You're only searching because that's what her father asked you to do. Can you honestly admit to feeling the same as you did three years ago, that this is not just a job and you're doing it because you have loved her as deeply as you did the last time you met."

It took seconds for him to compose and reached out to swallow the rest of his wine.

"I don't consider those important details, but if you are persistent to understand, I am doing what I can because I love her." The wine tasted bitter, left a trail of burns going down his esophagus. He glanced down to Gwyneth's plate, she had not eaten, and he wanted to take the attention away from his duties. "You should finish eating."

Gwyneth gained no answer to her view of fantasy-speckled reality and nibbled on her lip, uninterested by food. He knew Gwyneth was naïve, but underestimated the extremity. She had no idea what sort of crowd she moved with, either due to her own stupidity or the desire to turn a blind eye.

Once she excused herself, Starrk tried shutting out her protests, but only grew restless and agitated. He had no need for a petulant nobody throwing all his insecurities into his face. He would not have bothered taking on this hopeless journey if he did not love Layla, he may have sent someone else, someone dispensable but skilled.

As Starrk watched the glitter of the garnet ring, his mind fell into despair.

Love her?

He did.

It never wavered. But had three years of her absence changed everything?

If he imagined those three years with her and their child, would they be happy or miserable? Would their marriage simply be a marriage because they committed the juvenile mistake of eloping or would their love deepen with each year?

The latter, he hoped—a helpless thought.

If he saw Layla then and there, from the beyond the frosted glass, standing in the middle of the street beneath the sign of the neighboring pub with the eerie lantern lighting the fiery strands in her hair as if touched by sunlight. If she stood there in her red dress, black fur coat, and weathered boots. Pale skin, tinted lips, flushed cheeks, and brown eyes searching the darkness in slight desperation—would he rush downstairs and embrace her? Would he kiss her deeply, passionately, as he had years ago? Would her hands tremble in his grasp? Would she cry?

Or would he resign to watching her from afar? Unfeeling and helpless.

It scared him to think his love had diminished with time, when ironically, it had kept him going those past three years.

Starrk hid the garnet ring underneath his jacket, unable to stare any longer, and went to bed. Sleep took him quickly, but his dreams were void of Layla's memory, imprint only half-present now.

* * *

On the eve of their departure, Starrk received three letters from the attendant downstairs. One signed Rye, the second completely anonymous, and the final from Neliel.

He read each in the carriage while Gwyneth finished a correspondence addressed to Theobald Bakalov, a part of his semi-plan to infiltrate Nocturne and gather information on the rest of the witnesses. Bakalov was a buyer from her father and she figured that she could ask him directly for an invitation into his club. It was a good way to start; however, he did not believe Bakalov to be that stupid.

Neliel sent him a report on everyone's jobs and progresses, as well as idle mention of his grandfather, who left England for Spain three days ago. He had grown tired of the monotony of England, preferring the countryside in Spain to the gray here. She remembered to check on Lilynette, who was doing well.

Starrk tugged out Rye's letter and read, it was concise and written in neat script.

_Watkins is dead. _

_Found at the site of a newly established gypsy caravan in west London._

_I have a lead on Byrd; investigate if you have time before or after Bakalov._

_I'll send more information later._

_Rye_

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Watkins, one of the witnesses, died, which meant losing another chunk of the unknown story; he tried focusing his attention of Byrd, another, attempting to ignore the fact by skimming over the final letter, wondering what sort of lead Rye was following.

The following letter was just as short as Rye's:

_You want to know the true story, so you have started your search._

_Layla and your child are alive, but for how long?_

Starrk twisted around the letter, finding more written in the backside.

_Two weeks sounds about right, no?_

_Here's a clue: She is in London._

Fury crept through him in silent waves and he tore the letter into tinier pieces each time he rumpled the sheet.

Gwyneth climbed into the carriage, an awkward smile on her face. "I left it with the woman, said she'll send it as soon as she can…" Her eyes found the mounting trash on his lap and met his gaze. "Bad news?"

"A witness is dead, there's a lead for another, and apparently Layla is in London."

The duchess' eyes widened. "What?"

"Let's get going!" he shouted, startling his companion as well as the coach.

"She's in London? How do you know this?"

"Anonymous letter," he muttered furiously.

"How do you know it's not a fake?" she asked, frightened. "This could be a trap."

"It's not a trap, it's a game."

Douglas Gray played dirty, he had forgotten. This sort of taunt was obvious, should have been, at least, except he overlooked the possibility. His mind was filled with cruel thoughts. The idea of Douglas Gray laying a hand on Layla infuriated him to degrees unknown to him. Determining whether the emotion was due to jealousy or possessiveness lost credibility in the war going on inside his body. He could tear the bastard limb from limb, not feel a thing.

Gwyneth read the mood particularly well; knowing best that silence was indeed a virtue.

* * *

Neliel received swift correspondence from Starrk, a letter that served as a mere summons for every member of the Luisenbarn Court available. With Grimmjow gone with his grandfather, and Ulquiorra skulking around the undergrounds for information on the recent swirl of murders, she and Nnoitra were the only ones without pending obligations.

Nnoitra looked furious. "I don't fuckin' care if she's still in England or in Russia!"

"We have to answer this summons," said Neliel calmly.

He looked at her in contempt.

"_Both of us_," she asserted, knowing the thought of slinking out of view may appear in his head any second now. "We have no choice. This is a job from both Starrk, who is in charge of the family, and Aizen, we—"

"Shut up already!" snapped Nnoitra, jumping out of his seat. "I get it. So when do we leave?"

"After breakfast," she said, gesturing him back into his seat across her. "We need to arrive to London as quickly as possible and begin our search from north to south. Ulquiorra should have new information by the time we reach our destination."

Nnoitra grumbled unpleasantly as he dropped back into his seat.

* * *

Starrk fiddled with the garnet ring in his jacket pocket, standing on a balcony overlooking the greater portion of London from an ancient home owned by his family. Gwyneth spent most of the day indoors complaining about how dusty and murky the place was, trying, with no avail, to clean everything and anything she wanted to touch. They ate in town mostly; Gwyneth refused to sleep in the ancient mattress and slept in a couch in the first sitting room. Starrk cared little about the interior and merely changed the sheets to one of the upstairs beds and slept there, quite comfortably, though the springs were noisy.

He spent most evenings outdoors, searching for clues that may lead him to Layla.

Gwyneth had received word from Bakalov, he promised to send an invitation soon, as Nocturne had sporadic openings. Luckily, one was right around the corner. If the invitation came first, Starrk would attend and force information out of Bakalov, not at all willing to humor him as previously planned.

Starrk reentered the house. Gwyneth was having tea from a new set she purchased, though the second she took a sip, she spat it back into the cup, disgusted.

"I hope you remembered to boil the water this time," he said lightly, tugging on the frock coat lying over a dusty old armchair. He twisted a scarf around his neck, tucked it inside his coat, as Gwyneth looked up to him helplessly. "If you keep trying, you'll get it right eventually. I'll bring you cakes on my way back."

Gwyneth frowned. "Where are you going?"

"A walk."

"Come back quickly, I hate it here alone, I swear it's haunted."

"Say hello to Madam Tilley for me," called Starrk from the front door.

Gwyneth suddenly rushed after him, stopping at the top of the staircase. "Who's Madam Tilley?"

Starrk merely waved and shut the door behind him. He learned Gwyneth hated horror and supernatural stories upon entering the home, claimed it gave her the chills and she went onto wishing that there were no apparitions haunting the place. Starrk watched her twitch and flinch whenever one of the ancient floorboards gave a good lurch or the doors whined abysmally upon opening, like an eternal scream. He especially lingered at his bedroom door, it made the loudest noise, and the sound echoed easily down to the parlor where she set up camp. She caught him doing it yesterday and shouted at him.

Madam Tilley was not an apparition; she was their next-door neighbor, a baroness from France, visiting her daughter's home. Quite a nice woman, a bit nosey; she asked if they were taking permanent residence and if they were newlyweds. Starrk shook his head to both, they were visiting, and he was a widower, she a newlywed and his least favorite cousin.

Madam Tilley bought the lie, smiled coyly, and said, "I do not believe you to be a widower and so young."

Starrk smiled slightly. "The tragedy was quite unexpected."

"Well, there are a dozen more women out there; you must have women everywhere vying for your attention."

"Perhaps, but I do think my late wife is the only one willing to put up with me."

Madam Tilley complimented him more, batted her eyelashes and spoke suggestively. He approximated they had a twenty year age gap and though she was a smart-looking older woman, he did the gentlemanly thing of not noticing her approach at all. Keeping things congeal while she was under the impression he was just some earl or viscount and not the Luisenbarn heir. Complications could arise with only one person knowing he returned to London.

Starrk took the sidewalk down a row of two-story homes in a neighborhood of households owned predominately by heirs of grandiose inheritances and high titles, a beautiful area clear of beggars and smugglers. He walked aimlessly and thoughtlessly, a clear head brought him plenty of delights. People looked to him, but failed to recognize him, that was best. He had no room for obstacles, no patience.

Even so, the anonymous letter dangled over his head by an invisible line, waiting for him to take a bite—fall into an obvious trap. Set a time limit—short, but allowing enough time to properly investigate—and slip in a lie—_Layla and you child are alive, but for how long?_ Uncertainty reigned. A complete first, his perceptions had never clouded. The best of him called the obvious bluff, the worst believed it. He sat in the middle of both ideas, unable to take a step towards either.

Starrk passed through crowded merchant streets, boisterous children pushed through throngs of people to reach a newly settled circus, announced in colorful fliers nailed to the walls. They called out to their parents or guardians, urging them to hurry before they miss the start of it. Many shoulders bumped his, but he pressed on until he reached the usually vacant park now covered in a large stripped tent, customers rushed in to find seats, a ring leader shouted out the main attractions—_"See the Bearded Lady! Watch Alfred the Elephant balance on one foot! Have your fortune read by the mysterious Franziska!"_

_There could be a thousand Franziskas in the entire world._

Starrk searched the crowd absentmindedly as it thinned, everyone slipped under the tent for a seat. Then a flash of yellow caught his attention, a tall, gangly male underdressed in snow-toppled weather. Before him, a woman, a head shorted, cascading hair that shone red under the slight sunlight. His heart thumped.

_Layla._

The woman spun around, blond male disappearing into an oncoming crowd of people.

Starrk rushed forward without notice, sprinting and caught her arm. He jerked her back, "_Layla_," he called breathlessly, turning her around. His heart sunk.

A wide-eyed stranger, a young girl, barely sixteen, stared back at him, sputtering almost. Not Layla.

He suddenly felt sick, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I mistook you for—I'm sorry."

The second he dropped his hold on the girl, she scampered down the streets, turning back a single time before disappearing behind a stretch of shops.

Starrk dropped his arms at his side, the cold seeping into his flesh, like pins and needles. His mind was playing tricks on him. Figures he would be losing his mind. He admittedly expected it to happen earlier on, not now.

The streets all around him had emptied quickly, only the occasionally carriage passed through the bumpy road and few visitors walked in and out of the unpopular shops. Everyone else enjoyed themselves inside the gargantuan tent, full of noise and roars of various animals.

_Click._

It sounded softly like a hiss. He stiffened precariously, knowing the sound all too well, and shortly after, not even a breath later, he felt the cold metal press against the back of his head. The barrel of a pistol.

Someone recognized him.

_Fourth Family?_

It came second nature to Starrk to carry a pistol with him everywhere he went, especially when he wandered London, but today had been different. He left the house distracted, committed a rudimentary mistake. He only had one option, find a way out of the predicament without provoking the stranger behind him to shoot, and disarm them.

_Easy._

The thought didn't sit well with Starrk. He hated the idea. He wasn't exactly looking for confrontation, planned to avoid it as much as necessary.

The cold pressed harder, bruising the back of his head, he expected.

"Weapons?"

_A woman._

Starrk raised his arms. "None."

The voice was raspy, as if she were healing from a bad cold.

"Get on your knees," she ordered harshly.

"No."

She kicked him harshly in the back of the knees, forcing him onto the frozen ground. The pain shot up his body. He cringed painfully and suppressed the urge to complain.

"Who sent you?" she asked forcefully. "The fat pig Bakalov or Bocker?"

Starrk raised his eyebrows. _Bakalov?_ "You know Bakalov?"

She thrust the pistol harder into his skull, not very patient. "Answer the question. Did he send you?"

Starrk planned a few strategies. He could overpower her for the obvious reasons, but that fact didn't exactly make the pistol situation disappear. The weapon existed, it was bruising his skull, and by her handle on it, she had too good a grip to drop it, no matter how fast or strong he was.

_Need to try, don't I?_

He took a breath, opened his mouth, giving off the illusion that he was about to talk, but swiftly twisted over the ground. He accepted the challenge. With his fisted right arm, he knocked her pistol hand upward and attempted to stand, beside the radiating pain in his kneecaps, when he felt the pistol crush into his face, knocking him backwards with unforeseen force. His hands shot up to his face, he definitely felt his nose snap and the blood flow. He groaned painfully.

Her foot stomped onto his chest, pistol pointed back in his face. "Don't get cute with…" She trailed off.

Starrk opened his left eye, looking beyond his blurred vision to his assailant. Painful, disturbing silence greeted him. He might have died for a whole minute; no real reaction dawned on him. Nothing matched up. The pain of his broken nose faded away, all ache had faded away, seeped into the cold earth beneath him.

"…me," she finished quietly, removing her foot.

"Leyha?"

The name upset her and next thing he saw was a flash of gray before the pistol smacked him over the head as her retreating footsteps reached his ears. Running away confirmed everything.

With little regard the throbbing headache, Starrk jumped to his feet, rushing after the figure in black.

* * *

_**Many thanks to**:_ _ookawa and starfire8001 for reviewing the previous chapter._

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

The chapter did not write itself after my last update, two months ago. Normally, I would be very upset, but since I finished this chapter, four days ago, I have not been able to stop writing for this story! I finished the next chapter yesterday, and started the next two (which are being written simultaneously - twin story lines had certain advantages). The unfortunate thing is, that only the first half of the events in this story were in the outline. The later half involved the start of the Bakalov short storyline; this was going to be a huge chapter that presented a darker side of Starrk, but my fingers fiddled elsewhere.

I also wrote this chapter a thousand times. The first half, the second came naturally. While writing I had a realization, I hate Gwyneth's guts, like seriously. I can''t bring myself to like her even though she's so, so outspoken and strong-the sort of heroine I love to read about, that's what she's modeled after. I don't know why. She's not gonna pull a Robin Talbot, by the way, if that thought crossed your mind. She's genuinely nice, looks out for people, a bit intrusive, but she can't help it.

Sigh, I needed to get that off my chest. I hope there is someone out there that can love Gwyneth in my stead.

Now, the pleasantries, thank you for taking the time to read (waiting patiently), reviewing if you have (ever), and adding this to your favorites/alerts. Every little bit counts towards motivation and making me feel like a happy camper, knowing there is someone still reading makes it all better.

Excuse the strange writing, the flow was completely inexcusable, so I won't try. Consider this a transition period, I can only hope to get better. :)

Predictions for the next installment? Drop a line in the review box or pm. I always like to hear predictions. Hated it? Loved it? Tell me. Constructive criticism? Always appreciated.

If I don't make too many extravagant changes with the following chapter, you can expect it mid-week or on Saturday.

You can read a preview to the next chapter by heading to my lj: riotpunkdance (.) livejournal (.) com - no parenthesis or spaces, obviously. From there scroll down a bit to my Jan - April Status Update. You will find a link in the entry to the preview under the Masquerade section and the coolest thing ever is that there's not just 1 preview, but 3 previews to Ch. 7 - 9!

*GASP*

I think you might appreciate how there's so much going on, but at the same time, nothing at all.

Thank you! :)


	48. Brittle Resolve 3

[II. **Camellia**]

Seven: _**Brittle Resolve III**_

_If you claim innocence,_

_Why do you run?_

* * *

Starrk scrambled onto his feet, holding his bloodied, broken nose, eyes wide open, and bounded after her retreating form. His mind had not been playing cruel tricks on him. The familiar face delicately framed by cropped reddish waves was staring down at him with wavering conviction and wide, frightened brown eyes—it was Layla. His head throbbed as his legs propelled him forward speedily towards her fleeting form and watched as the skirt of her dress tangled with the frock coat draped over her shoulders.

His tongue felt strange inside his mouth the second after speaking her name, paralyzed; he just said something taboo and the retribution was a curse a few seconds away from killing him dead—the sense of dread was almost indescribable.

She disappeared from sight down a narrow set of streets that formed interlocking back alleys full of murk and disdainful smells that stung his nostrils as he travelled down them. He wrapped his scarf tightly around the bottom half of his face, heart thudding violently in his chest as he chased her through the alleys. The click of heeled boots reverberated ahead of him as she skidded out of sight, the gray coat fluttering off her shoulders.

Starrk stomped over it as he rushed, taking an immediate right, squeezing his body between buildings. He rushed, forced to walk with his back flat to the wall and noticed her stumble as she reached the frosted street. Gathering the skirt of her black dress, she surveyed his distance and trotted down the length of the street. He quickened his pace, exiting with a slight stumble, and pursued her with much fervor. He ran faster, so quickly the scenery blurred in his periphery as he reached forward.

His hand clasped her wrist and he jerked her backward. She slipped over the ice and fell forward onto her side, bringing him down. His body bore down on the slight female frame beneath him, head bumped hard with the road and he felt the area throbbing. Even so, he managed to lift his head at the sound of her complaint and stared down at the magnificent sight.

There was a physical body and flesh dyed with pinkish tones. This was no mere hallucination, but reality.

"Layla."

"Hello, Starrk," she said smoothly, pressing her bare back to the iced road with a shiver. She wore a corseted top that in this weather was pure insanity without a dozen layers of warmth. "You shouldn't have been searching for me."

The words echoed in his mind as he lost himself in her expression, different, and the dread that bubbled in his stomach turned to anger, adrenaline pulsed through his veins. The cruelty of her words echoed inside his ribcage like the beckoning of warning bells. "Three years, Layla! It's been three years and that is how you address me!"

"Well, I terribly regret the damage done to your nose," she said softly, grinning. "I was always quite fond of it."

…And yet, the boiling anger dissipated with words he had not expected to be funny. He simply pushed the hair from her forehead, leaning close and laughed. She did as well, shortly, as another shiver shot through her.

'Might I remind you that it is quite cold here," she said. "I've lost my coat in our trajectory."

The smell of musk reached his nostrils and something tropical mixed in her hair. She wore the scent of a man. He avoided thoughts of jealously as he helped her onto her feet after him and tossed his frock coat over her body.

A jealous lurch disconcerted him.

Was she with another man?

"I must leave you again, Starrk," Layla started, stepping away from him as she held the coat about her frame. "It's best we are not seen together. I recommend you see a doctor to straighten out your nose."

Starrk caught her arm, forced her to face him. "You are alive, Layla—"

"I am also quite aware it has been three years," she said quickly. "I understand you have not been the same since then and that you have searched for me, or at least attempted to ease my soul at peace by attaining the revenge that solely belongs to me, but those very years have changed me as much as they have you. I expect nothing from you and you should expect nothing from me."

Again, she attempted to leave, but he kept her still. "I need an explanation."

"I still live, that should be enough."

"I want a reason."

"We cannot be seen together," she said firmly.

He brought her closer and kissed her chastely, not expecting any form of response; he only wanted to ignore his jealously. Layla's lips pressed firmly over his, a reassuring kiss—soft, deliberate, and familiar. He kissed her helplessly, grabbing her by the cheeks and opened his mouth against hers. She didn't even hesitate knowing he was bloody and damaged. She kissed him fervently. He tasted metal and the slightest twinge of alcohol. He pulled her harder against him, making sure she was as real as she felt, and she clung to him.

Any moment now, he expected to wake up on the dusty old mattress of his temporary residence. He would go downstairs and see Gwyneth complaining about something new, then enter his kitchen try to make something edible from the few ingredients they bought upon arrival.

The heat had returned to her frozen skin by the time they detached themselves from one another and she wiped the blood from her face with a handkerchief. He held his scarf to his nose, but it had stopped bleeding.

"I'm really sorry about your nose," she said softly, averting her eyes. "Bakalov has been hunting me like an animal. I didn't recognize the back of you."

"What does he want from you?"

"I can't talk here," she replied quickly, looking from one end of the alley to the other. "He can set your nose straight again. Come on."

Layla took his hand and led him north.

"_He?_"

"Hirako," she said, looking over her shoulder. Starrk looked confused. "We can't talk, not here. Bakalov."

Starrk nodded and followed her silently, the confusion hung over his head like a thick fog. Together they reached the northern end of the alley. Layla halted suddenly. He rammed straight into her small form, nearly toppling her over. She shot him a warning look, absconding in the narrow passageway, having spotted people starting down the sidewalk toward the nearest cross street. She assumed they were headed to the next bar, a cheap pub sat underground around the outskirts of London; a lot of information entered and left the misty room.

Barking laughter echoed in the empty streets as she scooted backward, pushing Starrk further back the way they came. He stumbled, trying to keep up with her stride. She straightened against the cold brick wall, waiting for the perfect moment. The barking laughter, rancorous voices fueled by alcohol echoed, growing closer with every passing second, and when their voices were at their loudest, she met his gaze.

"Kiss me," she said quickly.

Starrk blinked. "What?"

"Do it."

Starrk leaned forward. His dark hair shielded his face as he kissed her. Layla deepened the kiss, placing his hands on her lower back. He responded by drawing her flush against him. She created the illusion by pushing his jacket off his shoulders as his frock coat pooled at her feet, of a paid prostitute doing her job, no matter where and what time it was. A drawn out wolf-whistle sounded behind them, followed by brief, perverted commentary about her, judging by the dress belonged to a brothel three blocks away.

Starrk pushed her back, breaking apart, eyebrows knitted in scrutiny. "They—"

"Not now," she hissed, gesturing out the alley, "Now come on."

Layla reached the edge, searched both streets and signaled that it was empty. She ran across the street, leaving heeled prints in the snow, short hair floated all around her face. He followed the fiery reds in her hair all the way to the broken down factories and torn apart warehouses. She looked behind her, making sure he was still there, and took the dirt courtyard across to a gargantuan storehouse. She took many precautions on her way to the door, double-checking, and even triple checking before pressing her back against the heavy door and then, she slipped into the stretch of darkness inside.

Starrk looked behind him once before stepping into the startling cold, the iron door shut tightly behind him.

"Yer early," came the familiar voice of Shinji Hirako from up a stairway. A dim glow tumbled down the staircase in the upper level. "Didja find anything?"

"I ran into trouble," she said easily.

Starrk felt something twist inside his stomach, a disturbing crunch. He watched Layla's silhouetted form as it carefully walked to the staircase, stopping at the bottom to have a look at him. She called him over with a wave of her hand.

Footsteps sounded from the upper floor, the noisy creak of the first stair echoed. "Trouble?"

"Broke my husband's nose; nearly killed him."

Shinji rushed down the rickety stairs, blond hair chopped short, eyes searching the darkness for him. Starrk stepped forward, into the light's opacity, and heard him whistle in amazement.

"You can straighten him out," she said, heading up the stairs, bumping shoulders with him. "I need to return this dress to Violet."

"Come on up," said Shinji, heading back up the upper level.

Starrk would have to be stupid and blind not to feel the cavernous distance. Did Layla spend the last three years with Shinji? If so, _doing what?_ He knew only from the snippets of information he put together thanks to her pointing a pistol at the back of his head earlier. She was hunting the same people he was, particularly Bakalov. He felt rage, dangerous amounts of it, but looking at her, alive and in the flesh, so beautiful he thought he was hallucinating that he was overcome by an even stronger emotion. Three years of missing her and asking himself why, three years of seeking revenge against those who committed such sin, three years of looking or thinking of no other as he had her.

Now, he felt every bright, fluttering emotion drain into nothingness.

A strange closeness developed between the two, deeper than what he witness before and it bothered him infinitely. Layla and Shinji were at ease with one another, casual, an abysmal commitment that may have transcended the norms of friendship. He wanted to shake the thought as he walked up the staircase, careful about stepping too hard. The ideas coiling in his brain caused him harm; he needed a level head if he planned to get a thorough explanation.

Seek answers, and then make a decision.

The upper half of the storehouse was furnished. One-half of the large wide area was toppled to the ceiling with crates and boxes, the other half consisted of the living area. A small round table sat in the dead center, holding an oil lantern that produced a bit of heat in the surrounding area and its light was the same one that had escaped down the first couple of steps. There were bags stacked in one corner and in the other a place of sleep, a tiny area with blankets stowed all around it.

Starrk followed Layla's back as she disappeared behind drapes hooked from the wall and crates, tugging at the lace that kept the corset fixed so snuggly around her lithe form.

Shinji pulled the chair from the table, looked at him with the same knowing grin he remembered, and said, "Sit."

Starrk complied; the chair creaked dangerously.

The ex-officer gathered a white towel and water basin. He set them on the table as he dunked the towel inside. "It'll hurt once I set it, a bit of throbbing," he said, twisting the towel inside until it was completely drenched. "It won't hurt much, nothin' like a dislocated arm."

"Don't tell him about the arm," complained Layla.

He clearly heard a rustling of clothes behind the black drapes.

Shinji snorted. "She dislocated my arm, thought it wouldn't heal, right arm no less," he said discreetly. "Couldn't even hold a spoon. Nobody really tells ya what yer in for. Aizen trained her 'imself apparently, sly bastard."

He squeezed the water from the towel and handed it to him. "Ready?"

Starrk nodded.

It happened quickly, a hard snap over his nose, provoking the blood to come flowing from his nose again. He grunted painfully, "Ow." He pushed the wet towel to his nose; the new flow drenched the cloth quickly.

"What is happening?"

"Couldn't say," said Shinji with a shrug. "Layla likes playing games these days, the troublesome sort."

"Shinji!"

The curtain billowed as she stormed out, dressed in a high collared gown. She shot her accomplice a knowing look and held out a brown paper parcel to him. "Deliver this to Vi and send a message to Byrd on my behalf."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to skin him alive," she said, smiling brightly. "Soon. I don't like his pets hounding me."

Shinji grabbed a coat from a heap in the corner, slid it on, and buttoned it. He disappeared down the staircase and after a few quick footsteps echoing below, the heavy door opened and shut noisily.

"What is this?" asked Starrk, void of emotion.

Layla pulled up the second seat and placed it across him, seating herself. "I don't know what sort of mission my father sent you on, but you need to forget it and return to Penthurst Hall with your sister. She needs you most."

"And you?" he said suddenly. "And our—"

"No," she said swiftly. "The less you know, the less involved you are, the safer—"

"You can't make decisions for me Layla," he snapped. "You can't just drop dead on your own accord—why couldn't you tell me? I spent three years blaming myself for your death, Layla; you don't know how it feels."

"That's right," she said cordially. "I don't know anything about what you went through, I am not trying to say that I do."

Starrk bristled. "Do you even feel a sliver of guilt?"

"I don't have room for guilt." She noticed his mouth open to rebuke, but she quickly silenced him. "Don't you dare interrogate me, Starrk. What I am doing now? What I have done these past three years? Everything that you don't know is not because you have not used all of your resources, but because I do not want to be found."

"What happened?"

He realized that the woman sitting across him looked like Layla, but she was not the same. The way she spoke, raspy from a cold she nursed, the way she moved, careful, deliberate, and dangerous—a tone of pure venom enveloped in the sweetest of honey.

"Leave Bakalov to me, you need to stay out of Nocturne."

"I asked, what happened?" he pressed strongly, hand fisting.

"I owe Bakalov a favor," she said seriously, "a big favor. I plan to repay him."

"Why are they after you? What do they want from you? _What happened?_" He rose from his seat, leaned forward, dropping the blood-coated towel between them, and placed both hands on the back of her chair. He stared at her directly, the emotions spinning round and round in his stomach twisted into great knots of despair and frustration. "What did Douglas Gray do to you?"

Layla flinched, eyes shut tight. "You know?"

"I assumed."

A second's hesitation crossed her expression as the discomfort of being trapped between his arms weighed on her shoulders. It was immediately replaced by a stony resolve, strength unknown to him. "Yes, of course," she said quietly. "You are very perceptive. I was thoughtless."

"You haven't answered any of my questions."

"And I won't." She was brief. "You will leave this place and stop your search. You will not look for me until I find you. I will tell you everything—"

"How long, Layla? A couple months, another three years, or maybe ten?" he said roughly. "Will I be dead when you come looking? Or will you die and I never see you again?"

"If that is how it is supposed to be, then it will," she answered clearly. "Our happiness started and ended three years ago. We are no longer safe, neither of us." Her hands found their way to the lapels of his jacket. She held him so tightly her nails sunk deep into the fabric and into her palm. "Live with the memories we made and forget about making more—" She closed her eyes suddenly, as if in realization, and then laughed, self-deprecatingly. "It must be quite stupid of me to talk as if three years made no difference in your affections. I waved death in front of your face, maybe you moved on to someone else."

"Stupid," murmured Starrk.

He inclined closer to her as he discarded every doubt that ever tainted his mind—that soiled their memories together.

Layla placed a hand on his cheek and guided him to her lips. As furious as he was, perplexed as the situation became, he couldn't and wouldn't deny his desires towards her. Three years of mourning, blaming himself, wanting every day to see her walk in through the bedroom door to wake him up, jumping onto their marital bed smiling widely, calling his name, kissing his face until he roused from slumber. He spent many years wanting to touch her skin again, and yet, it felt surreal.

Maybe, just maybe this was real, but perhaps, he wanted to continue living in the fantasy. He didn't know.

_Hallucinating again._

How much did he have to know? How far did he have to go? How much did he need to endure?

Her lips smacked over his, gentle and unsure. He kissed her hungrily, pulling her out of her seat with a gently tug of his hand. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she draped hers over his shoulders. Her body was thinner, smaller in his arms. He didn't care.

Forget the nagging thoughts. Forget the boundaries between reality and fantasy. Ignore the cruelty of her words.

He only wanted her, day one all over again. He pushed her backward, kissing her deeply, slipping his tongue between her lips. Her grip around his neck tightened as she groaned painfully. He drew back, concerned.

"Did I hurt you?"

Layla swallowed and shook her head. "No, you didn't." She averted her eyes and she took a breath. "I still love you, Starrk, never stopped, but you need to not follow me, get out of here and forget what my father told you. Don't ask questions, just turn around and go."

"No, Layla, I can help you." He took in his surroundings. "I have a house nearby. Nobody except Rye knows I'm in London. You and Hirako can use it, for whatever you need."

"You would be jeopardizing your safety," she said immediately. "I don't want that. Living secretly has been my way of not involving you."

"And when it was over, you would show up again? What if I remarried, rebuilt my life? What would you do?"

"Live with it. Just like you would."

"I don't care, Layla. You are my wife, and if you're doing something dangerous, I want to help you however I can."

Layla's brown eyes became glassy. He would be insane to let her out of his sight. She forced herself to speak, shaking her head. "S-Starrk. I-I—"

"You can disappear, but you know I'll follow you," he said assuredly. "I can do anything for you. If you need funds, I will give them to you, a home to rest, I have it, if you want information, I will gather it for you, whoever you want dead, I'll get rid of."

She swallowed her tears, the tremors of her body faded.

"Take me there," she said after a brief silence, "to your home."

* * *

**x l i l i m**:

Many thanks to **ookawa **for reviewing the previous chapter.

This took longer to release because I chopped the original chapter in half and rewrote the beginning during the editing process. I planned to post three chapters today, but I doubt after I started revisions, I realized I might have to chop the last chapter of the Brittle Resolve chapters in half and add more meet into this one.

Next chapter up on **April 7**.

Thank you for reading. :)

Previews are, as always, available at riotpunkdance livejournal under the [Status Update] entry. :)


	49. Brittle Resolve 4

[II. **Camellia**]

Eight: _**Brittle Resolve IV**_

_The story you curiously seek_

_Is not meant for your public's ears,_

_The lies you want untold_

_Are merely those I want you to see._

* * *

Starrk completely forgot about Gwyneth's presence in the dusty old house and found it a tad awkward when the golden haired woman rushed into the foyer, eager for the cakes he promised on his way out and to claim Madam Tilley did not haunt the premises. Thankfully, she failed to notice the red stains in his white shirt and darker shade of his coat and scarf when he entered with Layla half a step behind him.

Gwyneth's face flushed red when she came face to face with Layla. "Uhm, I didn't know we were having company."

"This is—"

He had gestured to his wife, prepared to present her as such and explain haphazardly the details of their meeting, but Layla spoke before he had formed the sounds of her name in his mouth.

"—Cordelia Black," she said, bowing deeply, "you must be the Duchess of Warwick, his grace has told me much about you. It's a pleasure meeting you, at last."

"Miss Black, nice to meet you too," replied Gwyneth awkwardly.

"Missus," she corrected amicably. "My husband will join us tonight."

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Black, would you like a cup of tea?"

Gwyneth fretfully twisted in the direction of the kitchen, prepared to depart as Starrk stared suspiciously at Layla, not knowing what she was thinking giving a fake name, but she raised a hand to stop the blond from departing.

Layla smiled and cast a knowing look to Starrk. "I do think that's my job," she said. "If you will, either one of you, can give me proper tour."

"You hired her…?"

Starrk gulped down the lump in his throat, the lie settled unfortunately in the pit of his stomach. "We are staying here. I figured it would be nice to have some help."

"I am young, but I was the housekeeper at my last home, took care of the lot," Layla went on.

"Did they let you go?"

"I left," she answered. "They were horrible people."

Gwyneth remained silent.

Layla clapped her gloved hands, directed her attention to Starrk. "Now, a tour, if you will, my lord."

Starrk nodded. "We should start with the kitchens."

"Very well."

He waved his hand opposite of where Gwyneth stood to the corridor curving around the parlor. "After you."

Layla bowed as she crossed paths with Gwyneth and disappeared beyond the hallway.

"A bit cheeky isn't she?" complained Gwyneth lowly. "I can see why she was looking for a job, and she's too young to have ever been a housekeeper."

"Drop it, Gwyn," he said, following after his wife.

Gwyneth returned to the sitting room, murmuring beneath her breath.

Starrk caught up to Layla, who was ogling the kitchen's dusty splendor. "Cordelia Black?"

"I don't trust anyone," she said snippily. "I don't care if they are a part of father's beneficiary or not."

"And married?"

"I am young; it is expected of me, even if I am working class." It seemed she fleshed out every detail on the spot, job well done. "Hirako can be my stand-in—don't make that face."

He hadn't noticed he was making any face. "What?"

"Hirako is kind, but I am not attracted to his sort." She grinned. "I have a thing for dark looks."

"How do you expect to prepare dinners and clean?"

"I can at least brew great tea, Hirako is a spectacular cook, disgusting at first, but you get used to it." She ran her finger along a countertop, drawing it up to eyelevel to reveal a clump of dust. "As for cleaning, I suppose I will manage, so long as no strain results. I need to be in tiptop shape, never know when one will strike." She wiped her finger clean in her handkerchief and turned to face him. "I need a single bedroom for my husband and I, can you provide?"

"You are with me," he said quickly. "Hirako can stay in the downstairs' bedroom."

Layla looked nothing short of amused. "How do you think young Gwendolyn—"

"Gwyneth."

"—_Gwyneth_ will react if she saw me step out of your bedroom every morning or go in every evening," she said softly, voice strong. "I need to be Cordelia Black, temporary housekeeper to the Duke of Norwich, not Cordelia Black, the Duke of Norwich's new mistress. Don't insult me."

That missing something clicked.

"What are you trying to do?"

"I did tell you we were no longer safe, did I not?" she said smoothly. "News of your reappearance in London is bound to spread; anyone connected to you is a perfect victim for _interrogation_. Gwyneth might be their best target, but how to get to her, eh? You are far more intuitive than most, stealing her away right under your nose will heed precarious consequences; they know your history well, Starrk, you are not to be provoked."

"How do you know they want to try against Gwyn?"

"I am paying disturbing amounts of money to an insider, gold tier, nobody suspects, but I have various sources besides the one in question."

"You don't trust anyone," he remembered.

"No, just me."

This annoyed him. "I am your husband."

"You are," she replied quaintly. "You must do with my respect and love, for now."

"For now?"

The words rang bitterly from his mouth, eyes fixed on her lithe figure perusing the kitchen utensils in search of a kettle to boil water. The cupboards were filled with rusted pots and pans and old wineglasses. She drew a couple of chipped teacups and a narrow teapot. She placed them into a large tub underneath a window used for washing dishes, casting a look over her shoulder, deliberately leaving him without an answer.

"Layla," he called.

"Mrs. Black, my lord," she corrected promptly. "Always Mrs. Black."

Starrk nodded, leaning over the countertop. "Sorry, Mrs. Black," he said, deciding it best to keep up with her stride than fight against it. "Would you like your tour later?"

"Actually, I'd much rather explore myself. Thank you for the offer, my lord."

"Fine."

Starrk clapped his hands, making sure no dust remained on his palms and left the kitchen. Footsteps rang behind him; he stopped, turning to look directly at Layla.

"Is something wrong?"

The tone of his voice amazed her. She smiled kindly. "I will serve tea in ten minutes, please accompany Mrs. Gervais in the drawing room," she said. "Speak nothing but pleasantries of me, yes?"

"That is quite insolent of you, Mrs. Black."

"I think it suits me."

"I will entertain Gwyn until then."

Layla disappeared behind the closing door and he continued down the hallway to the sitting room where he found Gwyneth lying on the couch, puffing up her cheeks out like a stubborn child. He leaned over the couch; hands clasped on its backside and felt strands of dark hair slide across his cheeks.

Gwyneth's eyes found him, and then wandered to the brightest blotch of red on his shirt, exposed by the scarf hung loosely from his neck. She sat up, alert.

"Is that blood?" Her eyes flash to his face. "Why do you have blood on your shirt?"

Flashes of him mistaking a young woman rushed through his mind, followed by the gunpoint encounter with the real Layla that not only forced him on his knees, but also broke his nose when he tried to overpower her in order to wrestle the pistol from her hands.

He shook his head, chasing away the memories. "I ran into some trouble," he lied effortlessly. "I wouldn't have met Mrs. Black, otherwise."

"What sort of trouble?" pressed Gwyneth, worried.

"The type you needn't worry about." Starrk stepped away. "Look smart, Mrs. Black is bringing tea in ten minutes."

"And you?"

"Changing clothes."

He headed to the doorway.

"Starrk?"

Stopped.

"Will we only be staying here until I hear back from Bakalov?"

"I don't know. Make yourself comfortable, regardless."

Starrk stepped out and headed to his upstairs bedroom, locking the door securely behind him when he entered. The bedroom was drearily furnished. Black wallpaper covered the walls, peeled and weathered in certain areas, there were two trunks, one empty and the second filled with the previous owner's belongings. A tall wardrobe covered the corner nearest to the double doors, covered in dust and cobwebs, as were the ceiling corners. The large canopy sat in the other side, near the stone fireplace that was stocked up with fresh wood, with its tattered velvet drapes drawn all around the springy mattress.

He tugged apart the drapes and started with unbuttoning his frock coat. He cast it onto the bed, along with his scarf, took off his jacket, and stared at the blood staining his shirt. It had seeped through, giving his skin a faded red tint. He undid the cuffs and slowly pulled out every button.

There was a knock at his door.

"My lord?"

Layla.

Starrk's arms fell to his sides. "Come in."

Layla entered quietly, as any proper servant would and strode in, undeterred by his unkempt appearance. "Tea has been served. I overestimated."

"I'll be there in a minute."

She stayed perfectly still where she stood. "Could I offer you some assistance?"

He suppressed a grin. "If you will."

Layla shut the door behind her quietly and approached the bag full of his belongings. She found it sitting on the trunk at the foot of the bed and searched it, retrieving a clean set of clothes. She walked up to him, stopping only when she was directly in front of him, only a tiny space in between. She placed the clothes on the mattress and reached for the center button, deliberately avoiding his eyes. Her knuckles brushed against his skin, deliberately leaving the area searing hot.

His breath caught in his throat.

She unbuttoned the next few; the ghostly trails sent another thrill of excitement through him. Her hands slipped underneath his dirtied white shirt and pressed tentatively over his chest. She moved them upward, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, eyes lifting to meet his alas.

Deliberate.

That was what her expression told him. Every move she made was purely intentional.

She assisted him into his clean shirt and started buttoning it when he spoke.

"Are you tempting me, Mrs. Black?"

"No," she said with light strokes of wit. "I am only helping you dress. I suggest you have tea while I prepare a bath."

"You should focus your attention to Gwyneth."

"I know that." She finished and drew the tie about his neck, pulling up the collar to knot it. "But I assume I won't be as welcomed as I am here with you, with her."

"Gwyn warms up to anyone quickly, give her time."

"I am not here to make friends, Starrk; it matters very little to me if she finds me agreeable."

"_Omph_."

She tightened the tie around his neck nearly suffocating him, but she quickly loosened it—not accidental at all.

"Unless it matters to you," she started, "if so, I will try my best."

"It doesn't matter."

She helped him into his jacket, doing so quickly, and moved away. "I'll have a bath prepared by the time you finish. Excuse me, my lord."

Layla slammed the door shut; her hurried steps vanished quickly.

.

.

The day concluded with the arrival of her stand-in husband. Introductions went smoothly, but Layla could easily tell Shinji was nothing short of annoyed. She hardly held him accountable after he took her hands delicately, playing the part of a joyous husband and smiled. Gwyneth had yet to stop talking. Starrk only watched.

"Took longer than I thought," he said briskly. "Ya better know what yer doin'."

As Gwyneth's eyes focused on their soft exchange, Layla took his face into her hands and kissed him briefly in the corner of his mouth, smiling as she drew back. "I do," she replied, then continued aloud. "I will give Mr. Black the tour, excuse us."

Throughout the brief tour, Shinji complained about how horrible the turn of events resulted. He surely had no way of knowing how she felt about it, but instead of asking him to shut up, she advised him to be patient. Everything would work out so long as she remained in control of the situation.

After the tour, she served a final round of tea, medicinal to help induce sleep. Gwyneth appreciate her thoughtfulness, Starrk wondered how she knew he had not been sleeping well. Once she and Shinji were excused, they headed to the other end of the house where they would share a dusty, cobweb-infested room. Layla had prepared a bath for herself, asked Shinji to boil water and bring it to the tub she slaved to wipe the murk off and yet, it was not as spotless as she would have wanted.

Layla had removed all her clothes, feeling a sharp pain between her thighs. She advised herself never to look at the cause of pain to avoid recollections. Douglas Gray wanted her in pieces, much like she did him, but their definitions were miles apart from each other and it is likely nobody would ever quite understand. Explaining would simply be a waste of breath, but these little recommendations did not stop her from looking now.

There were scars on her body, small and probably insignificant, but beneath her eyes, they were magnified and hideous. Purplish red bruises covered her torso, still fresh and aching, and others along her legs and sides that were faded green, old and clearly in her mind. Fresh wounds adorned her thighs; the sharp edge of a knife flashed into her mind, and in an instant she sank into the floor, fell apart, crumpled like a thrown piece of clothing. Her arms wrapped around her naked body, legs drawn to her chest, as the trickle of drawn blood slid between her legs and onto the floor.

A brief knock sounded at the door.

"Here's the last of the water."

The clunk of a bucket met the floor and sloshing hot water spilled onto it, sliding slowly into the cracks.

Her fingers slinked through her loose hair, pushing it back, and hands closing over clumps of it. Her heart was beating erratically as she shut her eyes tight, trying to imprint the endless darkness behind her eyes over her head's unnecessary activity. Everything she was doing then solely relied on her ability of discarding such things, processing them until they became the fuel that kept her going forward, merciless.

The long silence disconcerted Shinji. He knocked again.

"Are ya doing okay in there?"

No answer greeted him. She was shaking in trepidation, chanting in her head. _Make it go away, make it go away, make it go away. _So many times she repeated those words that they only seemed to stamp over the memories, overwriting themselves with every mention.

"I'm coming in."

The door opened and shut quickly, lock clicked. From his place in front of the door, Shinji had a view of the long red lines printed on her back, bleeding from the corset's strain, and the bloody bruises running down the length of her spine. His expression dimmed slightly. Not shocked or taken aback, what sat before him was something he grew used to seeing that it no longer surprised him. Layla was playing harsh, dangerous games. Nothing he could say or do would stop her from accomplishing what she felt needed to be done.

Layla felt Shinji's hands slid underneath her arms, tugging her onto her feet gently. "Get the blood cleaned off first, then we can put something on 'em. Lisa restocked our medical supplies."

He guided her onto the tub and sat her down.

She shivered. The water had gone lukewarm and stung every fresh wound. "It's lukewarm."

Shinji remembered the bucket, went back out to retrieve it and emptied it out at the foot of the tub. She assumed the fetal position meanwhile, the bathwater tinged pink as her blood flowed carelessly from the gashes. Her hair sagged around her cheeks as he wound around the room gathering her towels, the soap, bath oils, and shampoo. He left everything at her reach and headed for the door.

"I made a mistake today."

Shinji's hand was on the handle. "Yer human too, Layla, ya didn't think that was Starrk," he said quickly. "It was bound to happen eventually, you know it. He aint stupid."

"I relied on it happening much later, it is too early now," she replied softly. "He asked so many questions."

"Did you—?"

"—answer them? No. He doesn't need a reason to become what he hates." She cupped the pink tinted water, letting it flow from between her fingers. "I know what I have to do; you don't have to worry about that."

Shinji left wordlessly.

* * *

Mrs. Cordelia Black had a regal grace, an elegance unmatched by those born into royalty, and though she reliably provided their temporary home space the sort of care necessary for any home, Gwyneth felt a little perturbed. Mrs. Black was undeniably kind, followed orders without fail and engaged her in conversations whenever requested. If Gwyneth wanted to go out to shop, Mrs. Black would offer to escort her. She knew her fashions too, imports were her specialty, the dresses with the most expensive materials came with high recommendations, and she claimed sapphires suited her while perusing a jeweler's shop. Gwyneth had not had so much fun in a while.

During which the entire house had been refurnished, the kitchen utensils replaced, new tea sets brought in, and the antique beds thrown out to make room for new ones, which came with Egyptian cotton sheets and comfortable pillows. The luxury of the Three Families far exceeded her expectations. There truly was nothing they could not do when it involved money.

But even with all these pleasantries, there was something off. Starrk may have noticed as well. He kept his eyes on her every passing minute, not letting her out of his sight, but it later became clear that his watchfulness was not scrutiny.

Mr. Black arrived late on the night of their meeting, a tall, blond, gangly male with a wide smile. He worked mainly in the kitchen, preparing most meals and standing in as Starrk's valet. In Gwyneth's mind, Mr. Black was quite lucky to have found Mrs. Black, astonishingly beautiful as she was and mysterious to boot. She heard men quite liked women that kept them guessing, and knew perfectly well the allure may have caught Starrk's interest. She wasn't stupid, but it seemed Mr. Black didn't care.

He noticed as well, but never flinched or showed the slightest sign of jealousy, implying their relationship was rock solid or he truly did not care what happened from then onward. It didn't seem right; any proud man would have quit and forced his wife to follow his example.

"You do understand she is married," said Gwyneth, taking a gulp of tea.

Mrs. Black had served it a minute prior, bowed deeply, and left the room. Not once did the Duke of Norwich remove his eyes from her, followed her right out the door, probably further if she hadn't shut it.

Starrk looked at her, almost innocently. "What?"

"Mrs. Cordelia Black," she said, accentuating the point, "is _married_, did you know that?"

"Yes, to Mr. Black," he replied innocuously.

"Yet your eyes practically fall out of their sockets whenever she's around," accused Gwyneth, setting her cup on the table between them.

"She is beautiful."

"Nobody said she was ugly."

"I am only looking."

"That is really quite shameless of you."

"I never claimed to be decent."

Gwyneth frowned childishly. "I expected more from you."

"I fear I will never live up to expectation, a bit of a pet peeve." Starrk downed the remainder of his tea, leaving the biscuits Mrs. Black bought from the bakery in his plate untouched. "I have to speak to Mr. Black."

"About how you ogling his wife?"

"Gwyn," he said warningly, rising from his seat.

"I'll stop when you do."

Gwyneth knew a lost cause when she saw one. Starrk could have anyone he wanted. He wasn't ugly, in fact, likening the word to him should be a crime. He was great looking and she could not stress that enough. To set his eyes on a married woman was something she truly did not expect.

With a great sigh, she wondered if what he suggested was true. Had she had expectations of him?

A slight pink flushed her cheeks. "No," she murmured quickly. "Absolutely not."

It suddenly felt hotter inside the room and she headed upstairs to the balcony for fresh air. She took the route toward the back stairway in an attempt to slip away without notice when she heard Starrk and Mr. Black conversing lowly in the partly opened office, which the new servant had taken to refurbish.

She caught snippets of the conversation as she skulked by unheard.

"…the state I found her," said Mr. Black, astonishingly serious.

"…know…to her," said Starrk, an accusing tone.

"…questions," snuffed Mr. Black, footsteps closed into the door. "She'll tell you everything eventually."

Gwyneth quickly hid behind the corner, heart racing in her chest.

_Who are they talking about?_

Starrk moved closer, as she heard him perfectly as well. "I looked everywhere. How did you find her?"

"I was there, Starrk."

Gwyneth nearly gasped—_such insolence!_—but clapped both hands over her mouth.

Mr. Black continued, "You searched all the wrong places, I knew exactly where to go and I couldn't damn leave her to good fortune. You can't tell me I should have returned to Norwich, jus' to give ya the big news."

Gwyneth felt a wave of dread. _Too intrusive. I shouldn't eavesdrop._ She resigned to continue up the back staircase to the balcony for fresh air.

Starrk said something she didn't quite hear as she moved away.

"…not…anymore," stated Mr. Black, a twinge of anger in his tone. The door burst open and his voice flooded the hallway clearly. "No more questions, Starrk. Leave her peace."

Gwyneth rushed across the corridor and started up the stairs. If she stayed long enough to hear Starrk's rebuttal, she expected to feel grave disappointment and she refused to feel it.

The night air greeted her in slight breezes. She took a deep breath and let the cold air fill her lungs until the ached.

_No more thinking._

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to **OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO** for cheating her way to chapter 48. I would have done the same if this was your 48-chapter story.

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Happy Easter! :)

The next update will take longer to come (2-3 weeks considering the stupidity I put my wrist through in March). I decided to write a completely new chapter in between this and **Brittle Resolve V** called **Break** that will focus on Gwyneth and Mrs. Black's interactions and something extra. Afterward, I hope to present the final **Brittle Resolve **chapters on a weekly basis (or in a randomly update bundle) and I pray by then I have finished writing the Ukitake/Rovina **Entrust the Heart** mini-series. I expect I will be lazy.

"Break" is coming along beautifully.


	50. Break

[II. **Camellia**]

Nine: _**Break**_

_You might breathe your last breath today._

_Can you say you have regrets?_

* * *

Cordelia Black entered her mistress's chambers at exactly nine. Every clock in the house has been recalibrated or replaced, so no matter how somnolent Gwyneth was Mrs. Black never failed to draw her from her comfortable mattress with a quick tug of the blinds and the sweet smell of warm milk with honey. She helped pick out a dress for her every morning and proceeded to help her in it before accompanying her downstairs to the dinner table where she had breakfast alone. The rest of her time was spent either shopping, taking walks around the area, or finding ways to remain sane inside the dreadful house—thankfully, the Blacks had taken it upon themselves to remodel everything, slowly making it habitable.

Mr. Black allowed Starrk to sleep until he felt satisfied. Sometimes, it wasn't until late afternoon that Starrk appeared in the house smartly dressed and active, other times he appeared in the middle of night ready to leave the house in the company of his temporary valet. If she learned anything all that time, it was that Starrk enjoyed lazing around and that anything not done towards finding Layla was done reluctantly.

Gwyneth heard the front door shut and a lock click echo in the foyer as she enjoyed a cup of tea. Mrs. Black stood beside the table between two loveseats wearing her short auburn hair pinned to the back of her head. They had had no discussion over uniforms, so Cordelia dressed in high-collared, long-sleeved gowns, all in dark color variants. Considering it was the middle of winter, darker colors were in fashion, but hers were nothing short of dreary, though the tailoring in every dress was impeccable. It seemed too expensive for a mere housekeeper, so from time to time, she found herself suspicious of the woman.

"He is very secretive," said Gwyneth, keeping an eye on the foyer beyond the sitting room.

"It is expected of his background," replied Mrs. Black cordially. "He is the Luisenbarn heir. There is no reason he should ever let his guard down. Rats exist."

A thought occurred to Gwyneth in that instant. "And you are…not…?"

Mrs. Black frowned. "If the Duke of Norwich decides that I am to be mistrusted, he would eliminate me," she said simply. "So long as I remain alive, I am in his grace's trust. You have no need to doubt me; I am completely devoted to the Luisenbarn family if it is expected of me."

Gwyneth nodded in understanding. "Sorry about accusing you."

"In these times, I was surprised you hadn't," admitted Mrs. Black.

Gwyneth set her teacup back upon the table, dabbed at her lips and looked to Mrs. Black with both hands folded over her knees. "What do you do to pass time, Mrs. Black? Is there anything particular you enjoy doing? Any talents?" she questioned with a curious smile. "In fact, tell me about yourself. It was rude of me not to ask until now."

"That is no problem. Now, I play the piano. English is my second language, German my native, I am fluent in French and Spanish. I also speak a dab of Arabic and Latin," she recited. "Besides my affinity for languages, there is not much talent to speak of."

"But Cordelia isn't a German name, is it?" noted Gwyneth.

"My mother was fond of English names," answered Mrs. Black. "My family established itself here long before I was born. Regardless, I stand by German being my native tongue."

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"Three brothers, one sister," she started sensibly. "I'm the oldest. My brother picked up my father's trade, is married with two children. The middle brother works for the oldest and the youngest just turned eleven. Also, my sister has just gotten engaged."

"Oooh, how old is she?"

"Seventeen," she replied. "Very beautiful girl and marrying a baron."

"A baron? What a wonderful feat for you family!"

"Yes, my mother is quite happy."

A knock sounded from the front door. Mrs. Black inclined her head. "Excuse me."

Gwyneth slid back into her seat to watch the housekeeper stride through the foyer and to the door. Mrs. Black opened the entrance to be greeted by a woman of small stature holding a basket of fruits and a cloak over a simple dress. Listening into the conversation from the distance proved difficult, but from the obvious the girl was selling from door to door and by the looks of Mrs. Black reaching into her skirt pocket, the housekeeper decided to buy the lot. She bid the girl farewell and carried the basket into the foyer, catching sight of her curious mistress.

"My husband suggests the Duke of Norwich eat healthier, I realized we were low on fruits this morning."

"I agree, he should."

Mrs. Black smiled.

.

.

Layla slid an envelope across Starrk's desk. She entered the musky office without knocking or introduction and appeared before him looking nothing short of grim. As rude as her actions were, he recognized this aspect of her being. She always thought knocking on a door and waiting to be let in was too much work. She hated waiting.

"What's this?" he questioned, lifting his gaze.

"Your invitation to the Secret Ball," she answered. "It is hosted at around this time of year, quite exclusive, not anyone can enter. You should decline."

He stared at her suspicious as he took the envelope in his hand. "Why?"

"I want to use your invitation to enter," she said truthfully. "I suspect they are using this to lure you into the lion's den, simply for pleasure. You could be overpowered and sold in a private auction, though I doubt they would actually do something so harsh to you, especially if they have nothing to threaten—"

Starrk straightened out, processing the bulk of information before interjecting, "Who is _they_?"

"Fourth Family," she replied, watching him inquiringly. "It's an obvious trap."

"That is more of a reason as to why I should be with you."

Layla swiped the invitation from his hand. "Don't be stupid Starrk, you'll only get killed."

Starrk rose from his seat, keeping an eye on the envelope. "Why do you want to go?"

"I have been led to believe a certain Austyn Bocker will be present," she said, fiddling with the edges of the envelope absently. "He is the German emissary that got stuck in England after the Three Family fiasco. He was known for his international influence in the surface world and in underground deals. My father made a deal with him two years ago, a deal he came up short on—"

"—Deal?"

Layla stared at him, annoyed. "If you keep interrupting me, you won't get the whole story."

Starrk raised his hands in defeat.

She continued with ease. "I merely want to pay him back, nothing more, nothing less."

"I'm going with you."

"Hirako will go with me," she said instantly.

"Why?"

Layla sighed in defeat. "I am going to use my womanly charm to meet with Bocker alone before confronting him," she stressed, shutting her eyes shamefully. "I would rather you not be present while this happens, watching especially."

Starrk blinked. "What?"

She covered her face. "I will seduce Bocker into entering a private—"

"—and then?" he finished urgently.

Layla dropped her arms back at her side and headed straight to the doorway. "Forget we had this conversation."

Starrk scrambled toward her, unable to wrap the idea around his head, and grabbed her by the arm. "Give me that invitation."

"No," she snapped immediately, "you can't have it, you gave it to me."

"I did not. You just took it."

He reached into her pocket. She recoiled, slapping his hand out of the way, but that hardly deterred him. As she tried making her way out to the corridor, he wound an arm around her. She hissed instantly, weakening, and in the moment, he took the envelope from her pocket.

Layla whirled around furiously. "Give that back."

Starrk's eyebrows furrowed as she noticed her arm clenched around her waist. "Are you hurt somewhere? Did I hurt you?"

"I only have bruises from when you tackled me over the ice."

"You slipped and brought me down with you," he corrected.

"I was trying to straighten out! I would have latched onto anyone!"

"But you grabbed onto me!"

"That's irrelevant!" Layla started toward the door once again, but he caught her wrist and twisted her around. She jerked her hand, eyebrows knitted. "Let me go, I have things to do."

"Where are you hurt? Tell me."

Layla stepped closer to him, casting a fleeting glance at the envelope poking out of his jacket pocket. "Hirako never learned to properly tie a corset," she said with a sigh, twirling her fingers in an absent gesture, "and I do admit, it is tighter than usual and quite uncomfortable. I flinched because I am very sensitive to pain."

"He ties your corsets?" A twinge of jealousy graced his tone.

"Every morning," she admitted coyly, sneaking a hand into his jacket pocket as she moved closer, "unless you are willing to volunteer to aid me instead…"

Layla placed a chaste kiss on his lips, waiting until his arms slowly touched her shoulders. She slipped away before he had a chance to deepen their lip lock and strode to the doorway with a pompous air. When she reached the door, she twirled around to catch his gaze and waved the envelope between her fingers.

"I'll fill you in on the details when I return."

Starrk snapped out of his trance and started after her. "You are not attending—!"

Layla scampered down the corridor and from her immediate left Hirako appeared heading in the opposite direction. She grabbed Hirako and shoved him in Starrk's direction.

"Fed him off!"

"What part 'f he can kick my ass don't ya get?" snapped Shinji.

"Coward!"

"I aint getting between this!"

Starrk pushed past Shinji, turned to face him quickly. "You are not going to the Secret Ball with her," he said, and rushed after his wife's disappearing form. "Stop running!"

He lost her somewhere in the upper level where the corridors met and listened to his surroundings intently as he ventured down the longest hall that curved around his bedroom. He walked past his door toward the window and looked into the street.

"Even if you follow me there, it's invitation only."

Starrk looked over his shoulder to see Layla standing by the doorway.

"You can't stop me from going."

"You're right, I can't," she admitted, folding her arms over her chest, "but if you do, you will regret it."

"Why?"

"Because I spent the last three years surviving and I was never safe." Layla lowered her gaze minutely. "If anything, I want to remain the same in your eyes, even though everything has changed."

Starrk closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, closing her eyes shut.

"It doesn't matter." He rubbed circles over her back. "You accepted me despite my faults, besides nothing could change my opinion of you."

Layla pulled back and touched his face. She stared deeply into his eyes, kissed the corner of his mouth gently. "You are a good man."

* * *

Gwyneth picked the peas out of her mashed potatoes while listening to the soft tenor of the new piano resonating from the sitting room. Starrk had it brought in yesterday evening, though neither of them could play. Mrs. Black offered to teach her the basics when it came as no surprise that she played enchantingly. Starrk gave Mrs. Black all the liberties he could think of and so long as she did what was asked of her position, she needn't worry about them being taken away. That and he seemed to enjoy the sound of her playing, whenever the sound echoed in the corridors or when they seeped through the walls, Gwyneth found him sleeping on the couch.

Today, she spotted him across the small dinner table playing with his food. After a surprise visit from Rye that afternoon while Mr. and Mrs. Black had conveniently disappeared into the market, he had been acting strangely. She had grown tired of watching him brood.

"Did Mr. Harmon bring bad news?" she asked tentatively. "About your wife?"

Starrk met her gaze and wiped his mouth. "The Fourth Family is planning to lure me to a secret party with a bluff."

"They are saying they have Layla?"

"Exactly," he said, taking hold of his wineglass. "They want to trade, me for her, which means the Fourth Family has not realized she is far more valuable than I am."

"But it's a lure," she said, concerned. "They don't have Layla, do they?"

"I do think that defines the notion of a lure," he said smartly. "Rye is beyond certain they don't have Layla and frankly, so am I."

"Then you won't be going?"

"It is in my best interests to not go, considering the dangers, but a certain Austyn Bocker will be in attendance and I need to speak to him."

"Does he have information you want?"

"Perhaps," he admitted, taking a gulp of his drink and setting it aside. "He should. He is one of the five reasons my wife is missing."

The dark ring to his voice paralyzed her with fear of what awaited Austyn Bocker.

"But that isn't it?" she started slowly. "You plan to kill him."

Starrk arched an eyebrow. "I rarely kill."

Gwyneth's stomach turned. "But that is what your family does, is it not?"

"Yes," he said quaintly, "but I merely give orders."

The idea lessened the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. It bothered her to think about the things he did as a member of the Luisenbarn Court and she could only imagine how many he had killed under that guise. She thought about him, his mannerisms and the odd sort of kindness he expressed to those around him, but couldn't look past the image he showed to her. She couldn't imagine him as a murderer, couldn't believe the rumors she hear in the tongues of other beneficiary alike because it seemed he enjoyed his peace.

"Do you really not kill?"

"Not unless I want to," he admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. His chair skidded noisily over the floor as he rose onto his feet. "Excuse me. I have plans."

Gwyneth jumped out of her seat and pursued them. "You're going there now, aren't you?"

"That doesn't concern you," he said, throwing a look over his shoulder as she followed him into the corridor.

"There are other ways to convince Austyn Bocker to admit to his crime against you," she said immediately. "You don't have to sink to their level to get what you want!"

"Gwyn, I think you are misunderstanding here," he said, stepping through the foyer to the staircase. "They stooped to mine; my actions are a mere rebuttal. If Douglas Gray had kept his hands to himself and away from my wife, and had these five accessories of his known better, I would not be speaking to you or taking their bait."

"How do you think your wife would feel knowing you killed all of them?" she argued.

"She'd be angry she didn't do it herself," he remarked, as Layla already threatened him to stay out of her business.

He wasn't going to do it. She might as well just ask him to watch her be killed without lifting a finger.

Gwyneth gasped. "How could you say that about her? Surely she is nothing like that!"

"Because it's the truth," he said, coming to a sudden halt.

Gwyneth slammed into his back and stumbled as she recomposed herself to face him. "Sorry! I didn't plan on stopping until we walked up the staircase."

Starrk stared at her seriously. "You may be the daughter of a drug lord, you may be helping your brother run it, but you have lived neither of our lives because this was kept from you until the death of your father," he said calmly. "Layla and I grew up in environments the direct opposite of your sickly, sheltered life. My grandfather asked me to kill a man for my ninth birthday and gifted me the silver gun he forced me to use."

Her heart hammered in trepidation as the emotion swelled in her eyes, no expression registered in his face. He had no opinion of the horrible past he was forced to endure. To him, it hardly mattered.

"And Layla, at nine, had been sold to a whorehouse by her own mother," he continued strongly. "She watched her stepfather be killed by her own father and lived without knowing of her mother's selfishness, only to long and wish to meet her again. She grew up hating the safety house provided by her father. Do you know how old she was when she killed someone?"

Gwyneth felt the warm trail of tears down her cheeks as she choked out her response, "No."

"Fifteen. Robert Salisbury."

The tears dripped from her chin as her lips trembled. She desperately wanted to ask him to stop, but chocked up and fell into another fit of sobs.

"You, Gwyneth Stanton, lived all your years trapped in the safety of your four walls, forbidden to leave and too scared to rebel. You have never killed and you never will because murder is inhumane and you firmly believe there are reasonable ways to avoid conflict that undoubtedly result in death."

"S-Stop," she wheezed, holding a hand to her face.

Gwyneth didn't hear the front door open, but recognized the click of Mrs. Black's heels as they came to a halt. She turned her puffy face in the direction of the housekeeper and met with a pale face. Mrs. Black shot Starrk a firm stare before striding toward Gwyneth and wrapping an arm around her.

"Leave," she told Starrk. "You have made your point."

Starrk breathed and disappeared up the staircase.

Mrs. Black looked to Mr. Black and uttered a single request. "Bring tea to Mrs. Gervais' bedroom."

Gwyneth was guided up the stairs by the silent housekeeper and although she would normally protest against her insolence, especially in ordering Starrk out of the vicinity, she rather appreciated she had done it. Gwyneth wasn't sure she would be able to stand another spoonful of truth.

Starrk just finished illustrating that they lived in completely different worlds. He proved that his relationship with his wife was correct because she managed to put doubts into his head, ideas she realized still plagued him. But she was only trying to be rational. Truth be told, if Gwyneth had married a man who was kidnapped and heard news that the private residence where he was captive burned to the ground, her emotions would have transformed in three years' time. If her love was deep, she would think about that man on a constant, remember him for all the good things, but if he reappeared in her life without warning or explanation, she would be hesitant.

It should be natural to feel uneasy.

Mrs. Black seated her on the cushioned bench at the foot of her canopy to wipe the tears and snot from her face with a soothing calm. The housekeeper excused herself as she took a seat beside her.

"I am here to listen, but if you wish to be alone you only need to excuse me."

Gwyneth gripped onto the woman's wrist and gulped down the lump in her throat. "I don't understand why he's punishing himself," she whispered tearfully. "He has turned obsessive for his wife's case." She found the housekeeper staring into her blotchy face intensely, listening as she promised. "He doesn't know if he loves her anymore."

Something changed in Mrs. Black expression, but Gwyneth overlooked it.

"He can't honestly admit that he is only doing this because it's a job," she continued, stumbling over words in her hysteria, "but I can see it in his eyes. He doesn't love her. I think it scares him to admit, but I am certain he doesn't." She blubbered into the handkerchief. "He doesn't need to turn into a monster to save a woman he feels obligated to rescue."

Mrs. Black patted the top of her hands gingerly and smiled weakly. "Three years is too long to cling to a lost love."

"Would you?" Gwyneth asked desperately. "Would you still love a man that has been dead for three years? Could you?"

"Could you?" returned Mrs. Black, serious.

Gwyneth shook her head. "No," she said. "The rational thing is to let the heart heal and slowly let this person go. You can't do anything for someone that has disappeared for three years."

"Only if your love is fickle," said Mrs. Black. "I would wait, even if it meant seeing him after death, but I cannot speak for the duke. The circumstances to his relationship with his wife were quite different."

Gwyneth looked at her, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Have you not heard about it? The story has been spread since the Aizen and Luisenbarn joined forces against Yamamoto."

"No, I don't think I heard."

"The duke was ordered to kill his beloved," started Mrs. Black. "He approached her multiple times under a suitor's guise and pursued her until she finally said yes. The plan was to court her until she was helplessly in love, until she trusted him with her life, and so, when the time came, he may kill her."

Gwyneth's lower lip trembled. "But he didn't. He fell in love with her. He couldn't do it."

"Layla accepted him for being a murder, she sympathized because she understood, but he had a mistress while he proclaimed his affections for his wife. Robin Talbot."

"One of Bakalov's girls."

Mrs. Black nodded. "He ruptured his relationship with Layla at the famous Vinnlake Hall when he fraternized with his desperate whore. He toyed with Layla's heart, shattered it, and so, she left before the fire."

Gwyneth absorbed the information. "But they eloped and were happily married."

"Yes, they did, weeks after the Vinnlake Hall fire," she went on. "He paid a visit to her countryside estate in Surrey with plans of marrying her sister Sun-Sun. The Luisenbarn wanted to treaty with the Aizen in a way only a political marriage would suffice. Of course, you understand what that meant."

"The Luisenbarn automatically have power over the Aizen," gasped Gwyneth, intrigued.

"Indeed."

"Why would Aizen jeopardize his position of power?"

"If Sun-Sun was put in Layla's position, Aizen would have allowed the Luisenbarn heir to kill her. He would have a funeral, the story would be tragic, but he would gain a reason to destroy his enemy."

"He could do the same with Layla."

"You missed the point, my dear."

Gwyneth thought about it shortly. "He loves Layla, so he was prepared to give his power up so long as Starrk didn't kill her!"

"They eloped almost as soon as he arrived to the manor, considered it for too little time and simply left. The oddity of the story is their disappearance for all those months, there are many speculations around that say duke murdered his own—"

"Don't say that about Starrk!" defended Gwyneth, jumping onto her feet like an insulted child. "He would never kill Layla!"

"…Think about it," started Mrs. Black. "Think about it well. He eloped with his wife shortly after arriving in Surrey. Did you once consider her or have your thoughts been governed by the duke?"

Gwyneth remained silent. The housekeeper struck gold with her comment, she had not even considered a droplet's worth of Layla's feelings. She busied her mind's accusations with various means to justify Starrk's actions.

"I never did say Layla forgave him for Robin Talbot, did I?" she said simply. "So that puts the elopement in question, does it not?"

A soft knock interrupted Gwyneth's next outburst and Mrs. Black left her seat. She permitted her husband to enter and set the silver tray atop the nearest table where Mrs. Black took care of the rest before excusing herself to sleep.

* * *

"It was careless of you to abandon Gwyneth to her own devices."

Starrk rolled his eyes, knowing Layla hoped that enough of her accusations might force him to reconsider his decision to accompany her to the Secret Ball, but she had already sent Shinji to serve as the sleeping girl's bodyguard. So they left the house after Gwyneth had fallen asleep and the slight snowstorm had lifted wearing hooded cloaks to conceal their identities from the few stragglers on the streets cheering merrily in their drunken states and wobbling their way to the nearest pub or brothel to increase their happiness meters.

He followed her quick strides and scoffed at yet another of her jeers. "It was thoughtful of you to send Hirako, I do appreciate it."

Layla whirled around, grabbing him by the jacket underneath his cloak and forced him to her, so he caught the expression on her face. "If you disobey any orders that lead to Austyn Bocker leaving that Secret Ball alive, you will never see me again," she threatened. "I promise you it."

"I'm just going as a bodyguard," he said, defeated, and then averted his eyes, "don't want to lose you for another three years."

She growled, dropped her arm, and continued down the cobblestone streets.

Starrk curiously followed her until he started to recognize the clutter of familiar boutiques. He figured out they were headed to pay a visit to Lisa Yadomaru, Hirako's friend and tailor.

As expected, Lisa escorted them into the mirror room that consisted of her studio upon knocking. She only glanced at him quizzically before Layla waved him off as a sort of nuisance. He enjoyed being invisible for the short period it had taken for Layla to remove the first couple of layers of her clothing before she realized he was present.

"Enjoying yourself?" she questioned, dressed only in her undergarments and poised seductively.

Her reflection on every mirror showed every angle of her body and his focus remained on seeing it all when he noticed a purplish tint behind her leg.

"What happened to you there?" he asked, leaving his seat and pointing to the mirror that reflected the obvious bruise.

Considering the angle, the ways one could receive that sort of bruise were limited and he certainly did not want to assume his wife had been touched by another man.

Layla twisted her body around, looking down. "Where?"

Starrk reached over and grabbed her thigh, causing her to jerk violently. The skin beneath his fingers was as soft as a feather and taut. He unconsciously slid his hand down the length then up again, feeling her twitch in ache and pushed the obstructing fabrics out of the way to see the bloody bruise staining her skin.

"There is a bruise here," he said delicately.

The sound of Lisa rummaging in the other room rang noisily in the studio as he fixed her a perplexed gaze.

Layla removed his hand. "I think the horse saddle might have 'caused it. It wasn't there before."

"It looks fresh," he pressed, then remembered the pained expression she had while they were arguing over the letter. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Do you have bruises on your body? Have you been hurt?"

She sighed, defeated. "Yes. I have. You heard news of Watkins' death, no?" she questioned shortly. "I executed it personally, but the extra protection prowling his office caught me by surprise." She brushed the memory with ease. "It was complete torture, but I had backup and paid them back for everything inflicted."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Oh yes, I have been to three," she answered quickly. He searched her face uneasily, so she elaborated, "The first two were a bit nutty, so I resorted to contacting one of my allies for the aid—undoubtedly more reliable than the rest."

"Do you need time alone?"

Starrk and Layla took steps away from each other as Lisa's teasing voice reached their ears and found her standing by the same doorway she disappeared into earlier. She held the missing skirt to Layla's ensemble that evening and Starrk couldn't help but notice the lack of overabundant fabrics in the slight bundle.

"No, he was only wooing me with interrogations," said Layla blithely.

Starrk frowned.

"Is it working?" asked Lisa, taking hold of all the pieces of Layla's dress as she approached.

Layla smiled coyly. "Perhaps."

"Here. Go get dressed." Lisa placed the bulk of clothes in Layla's outstretched arms and gestured her to the open door. "You need to be there in an hour to make this believable."

"Of course."

Starrk returned to the loveseat and waited for what seemed like hours. A part of him though the idea stupid and wished he had simply stayed home to catch up on some sleep. If Gwyneth had been in Layla's place, he would definitely not be sitting in the poorly lit room. He might have fallen asleep during the way, but wasn't sure about anything other than the indecent sight of his wife in that vulgar ensemble Lisa called a dress. He stood up abruptly, knocking over a pair of boxes on the couch's arm. He swept down to pick up the objects and placed them back where they were as the sound of Layla's light steps made its way to him.

Layla stopped directly in front of him with a proud smile. "It's a bit too gaudy for my tastes—reveling too—but even so, what do you think?"

"Why are you dressed this way?"

"Costume," she replied earnestly. "The Shade girls will be wearing it."

Starrk looked at her state of dress once more. It consisted of a mere black corset that put too much emphasis on the roundness of her breasts and a skirt so short it showed the length of her legs, but for the sake of fashion retained its long tail of ribbons and excess fabric that twisted into intricate designs all along her hips.

"What's a Shade girl?" he said, perplexed.

"It's a fancier name for an expensive prostitute that hails from Shade, the brothel and club," explained Layla.

"…You are not wearing that out," he determined after the brief silence in which he stomached the idea. "You can find something more suiting for the gathering."

"I will not," she said, "find something suitable."

"Why not?"

"You see, I either wear this or be one of Shade's naked girls," she answered. "I wouldn't mind, of course, but taking the bruises into consideration, I would not be close to anyone's vision of pleasure."

Layla slipped away, not waiting for the next excuse he had prepared to stop her from leaving the shop in that indecent dress for the rest of the world to see. He understood why she refused him at first. He definitely did not want other men to see her with desire.

The night was fated to drag on.

Starrk sighed. _Follow her lead._

* * *

Starrk entered the foyer of that manor hosting the Secret Ball and followed a uniformed servant to the area where the festivities were partaking. He felt the sudden change of mood when the strong smell of perfume reached him, stronger in every corridor. He watched as women, dressed in the same indecent ensemble as Layla, cavorted hand-in-hand with the older man who requested them for the evening. He crossed a row of bedrooms, each decorated differently to create a fixed mood, some doors were closed but the obvious rings of laughter and pleasured moans confirmed the actions being committed behind them.

He swallowed down his discomfort and revised the plan Layla had given him to follow. She entered the manor before he did and promised to greet him inside. He only hoped she hurried.

"We are here."

The servant pushed open two heavy doors and a cloud of gray, deleterious smoke wafted into the corridor. Beyond the fog were as many unfamiliar faces as there were familiar while the masquerading Shade girls waddled around on their heeled shoes, attracting the patrons waving money at them, and none of them was naked, which confirmed his suspicions that Layla had lied to him earlier. Cushioned seats were littered all around the gargantuan hall surrounding individual round tables sitting beneath two crystal chandeliers and hearths were available in various areas with warm fires brewing.

Starrk meandered around a couple of packed tables before seating himself in an empty booth in the far end corner where he had a clear view of the entrance and was near a stone fireplace. His eyes scanned the surrounding area. He watched a paunchy man slap one of the girl's in the bum as she passed with a tray full of empty glasses. When she dropped them, he howled in laugher. In the center of the room, a nouveau riche was enjoying the attention of two brunette twins with freckled faces and red lips. A great amount of attendees were indulging in imported cigars and a few girls, he realized, were handling opium. There was one woman in particular, taller than most of the others with a dignified air, that had been slipping from one table to the next, offering opium in a tiny brown package that she produced from between her breasts. Different from the rest of the girls around her that donned on white half-masks, she wore a simple strip of diaphanous fabric tied across her eyes.

Once more, he searched the area for Layla, wishing she could hurry. He felt many eyes taking note of his presence.

"Need some company?"

Starrk turned to a smiling girl with cascading waves of black hair leaning over his seat. He opened his mouth to refuse her offer, but hesitated as he wondered if it was the right thing to do—

"Sorry, Elena, I already claimed this one," called a familiar voice in front of him.

Elena frowned. "Come on, Vi, you gotta leave some of the good looking ones to us."

Starrk felt his stomach drop as he realized he had been admiring his wife from afar as though she were a complete stranger.

Layla produced a tiny package from the folds of her skirt and handed it to Elena. "Take the other side."

Elena slumped away in a mood as his disguised wife rounded the table and took a seat on his lap without prior warning. She draped an arm over his shoulders and settled comfortably with her back towards the heart.

"Vi?" he questioned.

"Vivi," she corrected.

"How long have you been working as one of them?" he demanded, wrapping an arm around her loosely.

"How long do you think I've been in London?" she said, offended. "I had only just arrived when you tackled me onto the floor."

"You brought me down with you," he corrected.

"I would not have slipped if you hadn't been chasing me," she hissed.

"How do they know you so well?" he started again.

"I am a really friendly country girl that travelled all the way from Nowhere, England to London to join a theater group," she replied cordially, expressing herself in a way that made any onlookers think she was simply flirting. "The girls warmed up to me quickly; especially when they found out I was a virgin. The Boss liked the idea and suggested I attend the Secret Ball to help make him a few extra pounds."

"Do they plan to auction you off?"

"A private auction," she said quietly, among the special guests. "I already have my sights on Bocker and clearly—" He followed the trail her eyes made to the man seated a couple tables away, eyeing her with desire, "—he does too."

"That is your grand scheme?"

"Don't insult me, relationships take hard work to create over a damnable stretch of time, you should be amazed how quickly I befriended all the girls from Shade to the point they trust me unconditionally."

"This is too dangerous," he said quietly. "There are dozens of guards outside and inside the manor. Do you honestly think Bocker is going to enter a room with you without someone watching his back?"

"I am not stupid," she said, locking eyes with him. "I considered everything, even the details that may result in cataclysmic situations."

"Me as well?"

"You especially."

Starrk frowned. "You are not the best entertainer, are you?"

"Not for you." She tilted his head towards her and kissed his lips chastely. "My second will inform you if I leave the hall. I will send Elena to keep you entertained for now, enjoy yourself."

It didn't matter who seated themselves at his table or who the _entertainer_ was, Starrk kept his focus on Layla. She accomplished her aim in enchanting Austyn Bocker as she was seated on his lap laughing pleasantly at his jokes and rubbing his chest with affection. She occasionally leaned forward to whisper in his ear and his entire face went red.

Starrk felt his resentment bubbling with every passing minute. He found it difficult to focus on the card game going on at his table and ignored most of the conversation. He found himself talking a few times and hardly paid attention to the Shade girls vying for his attention.

Then, he watched Layla stand up, pulling Bocker onto his feet. She whispered to one of the girls as she passed and led the man toward the front exit where he remembered most of the lavish bedrooms were situated. They disappeared beyond the closing doors.

The wait nearly killed him.

A tan skinned girl sauntered towards him and took him by the hand. "You've been watching me," she said softly. "I saw you."

If he hadn't seen Layla have an exchange with her earlier, he might have declined. He allowed the girl to pull him out of his seat and bid farewell to the rest of his table.

The young girl led him out the back exit and through a long corridor before they reached an empty hall. She twirled around to face him, dropping her hold.

"She is in the velvet room," she whispered hastily, looking down every direction. Her accent was thick "Take the hallway behind me, it takes you straight to the front and take a left. The room is at the end of that corridor."

"Why are you helping her?" he asked suddenly.

"She saved my life," she answered, pushing him toward the hallway. "I can never repay her."

Starrk rushed down the hall, taking her direction and found the door at the end of the hall as she said. The slight buzz of noise left the room muffled. He reached for the doorknob and turned. It clicked.

_Locked._

He took a step backward and felt something underneath his foot. He looked down, a silver key blinked back at him.

_Smart._

Starrk picked it up and took the handle once more as he heard Layla's giggling and the low rumble of Bocker's voice. The rickety springs of the bed rang noisily as bodies shifted, then Bocker made a pained sound after a loud thud. He hurried at that point, inserted the key and turned it. He opened it quietly.

"Close it quickly!"

He rushed inside and shut the door in time to watch Layla smash Bocker's face into the floor. He had been struggling up until the impact and he fell limp bearing the weight of slight body.

Layla stared at him helplessly for a moment.

"What?" he asked.

"Where is your coat?" she snapped. "You don't expect me to leave wearing this?"

"Should I go get it?"

"No!" she hushed. "We need to move the body. Quickly."

"How do you expect to get him out when the entire place is packed?"

"I should have thrown you back into your stupid house; Hirako would have just done it without asking questions!"

He scoffed. "Bring him next time."

"I will!"

A loud knock rang at the doorway.

"Is everything fine, Vivi?"

Layla crossed the distance between them and punched him hard in the stomach. Starrk bent forward, grunting. She leaned back with a bright smile "Everything is just fine, Mel," she said in singsong. "If you will, the interruptions are making it difficult to please Lord Bocker."

Once the clicking steps vanished, Starrk straightened out holding his stomach. "Why would you hit me so hard?"

"Unless you know how to fake it, you aren't given any second chances, got it?" she whispered, forcing his shoulders back, and smacked his arm. "Now throw him out the window. I'll get his feet."

"What do you plan to do with him?"

"Kill him, obviously. Haven't you been listening?"

"Do it here. It's easier to play the victim. I can fix the room so that it looks like an intrusion."

"Too coup de grâce for this bastard." Layla kicked Bocker onto his back. "Of course, he's already suffering greatly. I depleted all his accounts and now he is practically dirt poor—living off the kindness of a benefactor for a pleasant crime."

"What did he do to you?" he asked, moving around to grab the unconscious man under the arms and lifting him.

"Let's get him through the window," she said, grunting as she pulled up the rest of Bocker's weight. Starrk led the way to the open window backwards, casting many glances over his shoulder until his back hit the windowsill. "We can talk on the road."

"Where are we going?"

"Downtown. I have a vacant house there."

"To your name?"

"Teresa Hutton," she answered, dropping Bocker's legs as Starrk maneuvered the body out the open window. "I inherited it from a sickly woman that gave me shelter for three months. When she passed away, I left. I knew where to go then."

Starrk unconsciously tilted the body too far out the window and together they heard the crunch of the bushes as his body hit the ground. They cringed simultaneously and huddled in front of the window, peering outside to see Bocker groaning as he regained consciousness.

"We should hurry," she suggested. "I'll put him back to sleep."

He helped her onto the windowsill and she slipped out. As soon as she landed beside Bocker she kicked him hard across the head.

Starrk could only imagine how the poor bloke felt; his stomach still hurt from the unnecessary punch. Layla dragged him off the bushes and onto the icy dirt trail as Starrk jumped out the window.

Together they managed to toss Bocker inside their carriage and leave the Secret Ball unnoticed.

.

.

"Austyn Bocker," started Layla soothingly, seating herself atop a wooden barrel in a dingy, barely lit basement. "He has the greatest influence as a judge, though he is foreign and just barely grasped the language. Queen Victoria favors him for his fairness and he has condemned many members of our beneficiary to further the goals of the Fourth Family. Coincidentally, he is behind the latest murders. He hired a couple of lowlife mercenaries that can't manage a clean cut; it's why the spree has been as grisly as it has."

"I am surprised you are so rehearsed." Starrk stood near a thick poll holding up ceiling above their heads, at his feet was an unconscious Bocker. "You just arrived to London, no?"

"You are only assuming," she said quietly. "Honestly, your network is supposed to be better than mine."

"Only in rumor, you are a valuable asset to the Three Families, why do you think all Luisenbarn and Yamamoto attacks against Aizen have been underhanded?"

"Because they are cowardly acts," she answered. "My father's actions are rarely violent. I honestly don't see what's so frightening about him."

Starrk stared at her in complete disbelief. "He's a bastard. He manipulates the lives of the innocent and leads the poor souls astray."

"Even so, he is not violent."

"He has the ability of pushing anyone in their right mind to take their life in the span of thirty minutes."

Layla clucked her tongue and folded both arms over her chest. "That's just a rumor!"

Starrk scrutinized her expression. "You don't look entirely confident."

"…It was an hour." Her eyes shifted from left to right in defeat. "He did it once. That was all."

Starrk allowed the urge to laugh to subside. His gaze fell to the top of Austyn Bocker's graying hair. "You did not simply bring Bocker here because of your father's affairs, right?"

"I owe him a personal favor," she answered honestly, wrapping his jacket about her body. "He has been paranoid for quite some time, knowing I would come after him, especially after Watkins was found dead."

"What favor?" he asked suspiciously.

"Let us settle with the notion of disagreements and a stolen…bundle."

"Stolen?"

"Precious, irreplaceable, beyond everything—he audaciously stole from me. I swore he would die for challenging me and I am merely keeping my promise to him. I wouldn't want to be a liar."

"What did he steal from you?"

"That's not important."

"If it's not so important, why do you plan to kill him for it?"

"You have killed others for far less, Starrk. If I want to be petty about irksome details, let me be petty." Layla wrapped her arms around him. "Honestly, I am only keeping my promises."

She had a point.

Starrk's gaze fell to the top of Bocker's head. His fingers twitched. "It looks like he's coming around."

Bocker jerked into consciousness and felt the ropes digging into his wrists, blue eyes wide as they came upon her seated form. "Aizen?"

"Correctly speaking, it would be Starrk. Aizen is my father," she said amusedly. "Of course, Layla would suffice, god forbid any confusion." She gestured to Starrk. "You have heard of my husband, no? He is quite the famous in the underworld."

The mere mentioned made his entire face go white. He sat there, helpless, with his hands tied behind his back and his legs bound. There was no one near for miles and all his bodyguards were stuck in the distant manor, probably frantic about finding their lost master. She could only imagine what lengths they would take to hunt him down.

"W-Where are we?" stammered Bocker.

"That is a stupid question," replied Layla. "You know how I feel about stupid questions. Come now…ask something relevant." A dark smile clouded her features. "_What are you going to do to me? Why are you doing this?_"

Bocker whimpered like a wounded dog. "Why are you doing this?"

"Two years ago, you made my life nothing short of miserable, three years before, you carried out my sentence under the orders of your _real _master."

"Master? W-Who?"

"It is certainly not Douglas Gray, is it?"

"Gray put me up to everything!" he panicked, struggling against his binds. "He is to blame!"

"No, no, I'm talking about the one that hired you, not the man that helped you survive," she replied. "Don't play dumb, you know who I'm speaking about."

"He asked us to steal him!" he started desperately. He knew the exact fate that awaited him and he would degrade himself to survive. "I know where he is! I can tell you!"

Starrk looked at her inquiringly.

Layla smiled. "That is not necessary."

"What are you going to do with me? Please reconsider!" he pleaded.

Starrk moved away from Bocker and stopped beside her. "What is he talking about? What did he steal?"

Layla got onto her feet. "Can you keep watch outside? This should be over before his guards come snooping."

"Shouldn't I—?"

"No. Please go."

Starrk figured the mistake he made was leaving the dingy basement with her scrutinizing her prisoner. The flash of metal caught in his periphery, but instead of staying back, he shut the rickety door behind him. Layla's calm voice stopped reaching him as he climbed the stairs, drowned out in the pleading screams of Austyn Bocker the further he went.

He wanted answers he couldn't have.

.

.

Layla emerged from the house half an hour later, pocketing her sullied velvet gloves. "We should take the long route."

"Finished?"

"Yes," she answered. "So, let's go."

Starrk followed her in silence. Bombarding her with questions might work against him. He said nothing, instead.

They took a detour back to Lisa's place where she picked up her clothes and returned to his home through the back entrance. Shinji appeared in the kitchen to join them.

"How did it go?" he asked urgently.

"Ended without a hitch," answered Layla. "Please find the lookout and have her contact Talbot."

"Talbot?" questioned Starrk abruptly.

Layla turned with a bright smile. "Oh yes, your mistress."

"She is not my mistress."

"No, of course not, desperate thing she is, I'm surprised she still has customers," she whispered with a hand near her mouth. "She is still very much in love with you and still thinks I'm an unworthy wife."

"Let's not talk about Talbot," he said, heading for the doorway. "Excuse me."

Layla locked eyes with Shinji. "Go now."

"Go it."

Shinji left out the back door.

Layla followed Starrk up the staircase.

"Starrk," she called.

He stopped abruptly to face her.

"Thank you for accompanying me against my will," she said, biting her lip. "There were a few bumps, but you dragged Bocker around for me. It would have taken me three times the amount of time to do it." She smiled bitterly. "I wish I could tell you everything about what happen, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't want to jeopardize your future," she answered truthfully. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me. Three years is immeasurable, everything can happen in that stretch of time and everything did happen…to me."

Starrk didn't understand. He needed her to explain, but he couldn't exactly ask the questions swimming in his mind. If he said the wrong thing, would she leave his side again?

"Knowing you were searching for me made me so happy, I thought it was perhaps a dream because—" She swallowed hard, drinking down words of betrayal. "—my reappearance shouldn't confuse you."

"What are you trying to say?"

"That everything will be okay." Layla moved away from him, turning back to the staircase. "Eventually. Goodnight Starrk."

Stark caught her wrist. "Stay with me."

She placed a hand over his cheek and kissed the corner of his lips. "Not today. Goodnight."

He watched her amble down the staircase and disappear around the corner. He felt strange as he returned to his room, wondering if he had been doing the right thing since he found her.

Starrk shut himself away inside noiselessly.

_Did something change along the way…?_

* * *

**x l i l i m**:

Woot! I broke 50 chapters (which would have been impossible had I not merged all the parts together...I wonder how far we'll go). It's the first story on my page too! I would have done it with Dementia months ago, but it's still in editing. I never though I'd ever get to 50 in anything.

This chapter makes me laugh and I honestly don't know whether I'm proud or ashamed for writing it.

Even so, this is quite possibly the most important chapter in the entire series (limited to part two) because it sets up for Snapdragon, a four chapter story that chronicles Layla's three years. I have totally been dropping hints like everywhere, but I am quite sure it will amaze you. Expect it at the end of Camellia! It shouldn't be long since we are moving at a relatively nice space.

The next chapters are the most exciting. More truths revealed, a bit of sadness, and plenty more lies.

Many thanks to **Blink-Dream** and **Brunette Geek** for reviewing the previous chapter, and a super special cyber hug and every chapter from here to the end of Camellia to **OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO** for showering me with great reviews. I always enjoy answering the questions.

Thank you for reading! :)

**Next Update**: 4/21


	51. Brittle Resolve 5

[II. **Camellia**]

Ten: _**Brittle Resolve V**_

_A warm body, _

_Warm bed,_

_Warm heart,_

_Warm everything._

_"Wanting everything, my dear," he said lasciviously,_

_"Will bring you misfortune."_

* * *

Layla and Shinji had been in his home for a little over a week and had settled in perfectly. Together they helped made the ancient, dark house habitable, and made a comfortable niche for Gwyneth in an upstairs bedroom where everything remained spotless and she spent most of her time trying out new dresses while asking Layla—strictly Mrs. Black—for advice. Starrk spent every day basking in the sight of his wife, making sure every morning and night that she was not an illusion, that she was real and he could touch the softness of her cheeks or place a kiss on her lips if he wanted.

He remained oblivious to everything that happened between that three-year stretch, hearing snippets that revealed nothing. Shinji advised him not to bombard her with questions—_"If ya keep badgering her, she's gonna get fed up an' leave. Jus' enjoy her company, Cordelia or Layla, whoever you prefer."—_and he listened. Starrk resigned to his desire to acknowledge her life and asked no questions, none, except one, the most important one.

The child. _Their child_.

But whenever he brought it up, Layla changed the subject expertly, reminded him of an appointment or mentioned that breakfast/lunch/dinner was overdue, or merely scurried away to tend to Gwyneth's needs. Layla did not accept his offer to sleep in his bed, so he spent every final hour before slumber claimed him imagining her sharing a smaller bed with Shinji, growing irritatingly jealous. Unbeknownst to him, Layla slept alone on the bed with Shinji on the floor over three coverlets that created a comfortable mattress-like feel for his back and a pair of pillows.

That night, lying flat on his back, as the fire in the hearth cast long shadows of the furniture at its surroundings, Starrk thought about Layla sleeping next to Shinji. His stomach twisted. It caused him enough irritability to have seen Layla kiss him once to have to deal with these insane thoughts. It was simply unnatural for a man and woman, unrelated and unmarried, to sleep in the same bed, let alone the same room.

_Did he keep her warm? Does he put an arm around her? _Things like that further disturbed the hours he could have spent sleeping. He had other things to consider, like the strange man that had appeared at the door to deliver a Nocturne invitation to Gwyneth earlier that afternoon. Layla literally vanished from the premises when the man came, making sure Gwyneth answered the door. Starrk remained in the shadows. Nobody needed to know they were working together, Layla asserted this—_"Everyone is thinking it's just a rumor as they only see me with her nowadays._"

The Nocturne opening took place that upcoming weekend. He would go in wearing the silver mask provided, while pretending to be Mr. Gervais, not many knew Constantine. He expected Bakalov not to pay much attention to anything but himself thanks to Rye's reports. Rye dropped by a couple of times since the first time. He gave him plenty of information on others, and as expected, during those brief hours, Shinji and Layla were nowhere to be found. The last time he came was after the invitation had been delivered, he congratulated him on accomplishing the feat, making their meeting short and turned to leave.

"How is everyone at the manor?"

"Mia's gone crazy. Emmett has accomplished his first goal in life—quite ambitious that boy," he had said humorously. "Mina, the next in line victim, is doing well with him, the staff is great." He had his hand on the doorknob. "Neliel and Nnoitra will arrive in the middle of the week. I had to pinpoint them elsewhere temporarily. The Fourth Family planned to capture them upon arrival, so I delayed their arrival to a day in which nobody will suspect a thing."

Rye left shortly after to report to Aizen.

Starrk stared listlessly at the dark canopy over his head before reaching over to close the velvet drapes around his bed and fell asleep without realizing it. He lived a brief dream, a stretch of darkness engulfed him and in front of him was a sweating older male battered and tortured, kneeled on the floor before him with ropes cutting into the flesh of his wrists and ankles. It reminded him of what he lived with Austyn Bocker trapped in the basement at Layla's disposal. Starrk could tell the rest of the Luisenbarn Court stood behind him, waiting for orders, but nothing came out of his mouth.

He stirred from sleep—a_ nightmare—_and felt someone beside him. A lithe body lay curved against him. He sat and stretched over her body to cast apart the drapes in order to let the light flare the reds in her loose hair. She wore a thin white nightgown that fell off her shoulder and hiked up at her legs. She had not bothered getting underneath the blankets, merely crawled over them and settled near him.

Something red caught his eye. He tugged the nightgown up to expose her thighs. He expected to see them, milky white and tempting, but instead saw deep bruising and gauze wrapped around them, a blotch of blood in one. The bruises traveled further up and curiously, he continued searching for them. More gauze covered her torso; the rest was coated in healing bruises, green fading to a sickly yellow.

"Have you finished?"

The sound of her quiet voice startled him. He found her staring at him, hands under her head, unmoving. He wondered how long she had been awake.

"Do you want to see them all?" she asked gently, rising onto a seat. She hiked up her nightgown and tugged it off her body, giving him a good view of her in the firelight. "Should I tell you how I got them?"

It had not stopped there. The gauze came off next and he could not say or do anything to stop her from showing the cuts along her inner thigh, the bloodied bruises, and the long red strips crisscrossing on her back. He stared, perturbed. Every inch of beautiful skin had been sullied, beaten and mistreated.

It made perfect sense why she had been flinching whenever he grabbed her too forcefully.

"Everything is already healing," she said, sitting down. "A few happened quite some time ago, should have healed, but I don't heal as quickly as others."

Starrk stared, saying nothing.

"…I wanted to wait until they healed…" her voiced soften so he didn't catch the rest of what she said.

What could he do? He didn't want to know how they happened. He knew what would happen if he did. He didn't want to ask and her pleading stare confirmed she did not want to say it either.

"…Can I sleep here?" she asked quietly.

Her face looked wet. She had been crying.

"Didn't you say you were worried about Gwyneth catching you leave my bedroom?" he asked suddenly.

Layla swallowed, slumping in her seat, looking emptier than ever, but said nothing as she reached for her nightgown.

He felt sick. Why would he say that?

She fumbled with her gown, sliding closer to the edge of the bed, prepared to leave the bandages there and sprint out, but he stopped her.

"Should I help you?"

Her back straightened. "With?"

"The gauze."

"No."

A long silence filled the vast emptiness between them, shattered only when her faltering voice sounded, tiny and insignificant—a person asking the world if they existed, a solid plead for help.

"A-Am I hideous?"

"No."

His answer was immediate, unfaltering.

"No. Never, Layla." He touched her face softly, brittle in his hands. "You'll never be hideous."

He scooted closer to her and drew her into his arms, she flinched but accommodated to the warmth of his chest easily. He kissed the top of her head and reached around her to take the nightgown from her hand.

"Come on," he said against her hair.

Layla moved back, pulling the nightgown over her head and slid her arms through the sleeves. "I don't need the gauze, doesn't make a real difference."

"Get under the covers."

She crawled underneath, setting her body down carefully over the plush mattress and waited for him to join her before sliding closer to him. She buried her face in his chest as he raked his fingers through her hair. Her hand crumpled the fabric of his clothes. She clung to him. For the first time since they reacquainted he felt this was the same Layla, not a woman full of mysteries. It spoke volumes about her then, things he never understood until now. She had been suffering at Penthurst Hall, saddened, every day the pain worse than the last.

Starrk found it difficult to sleep, and it seemed Layla did as well.

"Do you find it uncomfortable?" he asked, drawing her attention to him.

Layla was lying on her back, he on his side, watching how the firelight made her skin glow. Her eyes were closed; her chest rose and fell gently with her breathing. She could have been sleeping, but he could tell she wasn't.

"No," she said quietly. "I rather like sleeping with you. I thought things would be different."

"How?"

'You may have found another," she answered. "I wouldn't have much a right to whine and make your life miserable, but I think I would become worse. I would have left you with your happiness, not intervene, it's what I planned if you married Sun-Sun after all."

"Our marriage is still valid, that wouldn't have mattered."

"Our marriage is a lie."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"The priest was a fake. Father hired him, has a knack of knowing things he shouldn't really, and asked him to stand in."

"How can you be sure?"

"I ran into him on his way to meet his theater troupe, chocked the information out of him."

Her indifferent usage of such a harsh word annoyed him. It painted the picture of her life these past three years a shade darker. The bruises and cuts on her body were the concrete proof. She took every day as a challenge. He suspected this temporary home served as her only comfort for months.

"…We aren't legally married, eh?"

"Not at all."

Starrk watched her rest her hand on her abdomen, twining and untwining her fingers.

"Have you seen your father?"

"When I consider it, the urge to shoot him comes to mind."

"…But you have been keeping track of his movements?"

"As soon as I was able, I took care of that. I know about him masquerading Jaelle as Melena Forsyth."

_Jaelle?_

"…Then you know about…?"

"The wrong Jaelle has done to me? Yes. She's the reason this nightmare started. Gray paid her good money."

His hands fisted unconsciously at the mention of Douglas Gray. "Is she working for the Fourth Family?"

"Yes, they count on her as a reliable spy. I believe she thinks she's getting away with it."

"And Roxanne?"

"She's been sleeping with Rovina's husband, but is completely oblivious to matters of the Fourth Family."

Starrk wondered if that was the reason why the Duchess of Cambridge looked so miserable every time they met.

"…Elliot has been mistreating her, did you know?" Layla looked at him with saddened eyes. "He destroyed her prized possessions, humiliated her in front of an audience of perverts. It was despicable."

"I should have—"

"No, not you," she said lightly. "In her state, even I would be unable to help her. I left the job to someone else. You needn't worry about Rovina, she is well taken care of now, but it was kind of you to feel concern for her. She truly deserves the world."

Starrk fumbled through the darkness between them, reaching to take her left hand into his.

Layla carefully repositioned her body on her side. "I wanted to finish everything before meeting you again," she whispered. "Every day it feels like it'll be over soon, but things complicate and I have to do much more. I was never sure how long it would take. Sorry about running away. I thought if I escaped myself, everything would somehow be okay, but I don't think it would have if I had gotten away. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss you so badly and that was that."

He listened silently to the soothing sound of her voice, a gentle breeze in a blazing summer day. She could go on talking in that soft tone and he wouldn't care.

"Forgive me for being unable to tell you anything," she went on. "It must be difficult not knowing, but I can't really—"

"It's fine," he breathed, "so long as you are here, alive."

"I will explain everything soon," she continued. "I only need to find the others."

"Are they attempting against your life?"

"No. I am attempting against theirs, as you have already bore witness to."

"Layla…I can—"

"Do not feel obligated to stain your hands for me." She clasped both hands tightly, inching forward to stare directly into his eyes. "I love you, for everything that you are and everything that you hate, but this is my war."

Starrk felt a sharp pain as he lowered his gaze, unable to hold her eyes without feeling the urge to avert them. She understood what it meant to be heir of the Luisenbarn and what the family did. His grandfather firmly believed violence solved any and every difficult situation and passed on the teachings to his children, then grandchildren. He forced them into training from early ages and taught them to be killers, and while Starrk hated the idea of murder, he could not admit how easy it was for him to take life.

He almost didn't care, so long as he stayed alive. Layla knew perfectly well, had witnessed him killed the defeated and cowardly without a justifiable reason. She had only told him once, _"They didn't have to die. Committing mistakes should not be punishable by death. They are human too."_

He failed to recognize that. He couldn't remove the blindfold placed over his eyes by his grandfather.

Layla lifted her body on her elbow, leaning forward to kiss his lips.

"…Layla," he called, dazed, against her lips.

"Hmm."

"We should sleep."

"Yes," she whispered, "but I want to kiss now."

Starrk felt a strand of her hair brush against the side of his face, leaving a tingly trail in its wake. He nodded, gulping down a lump forming in his throat. Her lips followed the same trail left by her strand of hair, pressing softly over his jaw and lower onto his neck. There her lips parted, the sensation spiraled down his spine, forcing him to grab onto her arm and push her away gently. There were so many wounds he would need to be mindful of; he didn't want to hurt her.

"It's been three years Layla," he said, heart beating erratically. "…I'd hurt you."

"…I know."

"We'll kiss."

She nodded, moving closer until she set her body over his, straddling his waist. She hissed in pain, the tender skin of her thighs rubbed the fabric of his clothes. The sound excited him oddly; her hot breath tumbled down his neck.

"Careful," she said, placing his hands over the curve of her hips. "Be gentle if you touch."

Starrk was unsure he would have that kind of restraint as she kissed him deeply once more. Her hands tangled in his hair and her breasts were squished against his chest. He remembered the feel of the soft, tender flesh, could never really forget. To keep his mind from revisiting those memories, he opened his mouth over hers, hands cupping her face roughly. He wanted to taste every inch inside when he felt her tongue on his, just as aggressive as he was.

He continuously pushed her body from him as the desires escalated to excruciating levels. Kissing her lips, the curve of her neck, her shoulders, running his tongue along her naked flesh—it was not enough. He needed self-restraint. He didn't want to cause her more harm, but felt all his pent up desires throb painfully as Layla's hips innocuously grinded against him, testing him almost. The warmth of her insides is what he wanted, to be inside and feel the squeeze of her walls, holding him snugly as he pumped in and out of her. Slowly, gentle at first, to allow the pleasure to sweep through them in shallow, but powerful waves, then bit by bit, at the right intervals pick up the pace until she immersed herself completely in feeling nothing but euphoria.

He unconsciously groaned. Her thighs clamped around his hips, alert, as she detached her lips from his. He felt no ounce of shame for imagining the scene in his mind, but her cheeks were suddenly pink. She felt him; rock hard, against her leg.

"…Should we stop?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes, we should stop and sleep," he answered quickly.

Starrk helped pull the slight weight of her body off him and tugged the covers over both of them, feeling a sudden pain in his abdomen, a bad stomachache that came with his lack of release. He shut his eyes tightly, the faster he went to sleep, the easier it would be, but with Layla lying right in front of him, chest slightly exposed, with her perfumed flesh clouding his sense of smell, he felt the idea grow dimmer and dimmer.

He opted to close the drapes fully, let darkness reign in, but felt no different. It hurt. He turned away from Layla and made himself comfortable.

A second later, Layla's arm wrapped around him, her face pressed against his shoulder. Her hand roamed restlessly when it ran down the length of his torso, going underneath his clothes to examine the chiseled structure of his body. She traced the muscles of his abdomen with her fingers, raked her nails along the skin, eliciting a jerk from his body and a harder thumping from his heart.

"I can help," she mewed, pressing her lips to his shoulder. "Just stay still."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of words turned into a surprised moan. Her hand had reached further down, wrapped itself around his member. He shuddered at her cold touch and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise when she began running her hand up and down his length, pressing her thumb against the tip.

"…L-Layla," he groaned in protest.

Layla brushed soft lips along his neck, parting them to savor the taste of his skin as she pressed her body closer to him. He tensed in her grasp, his breathing growing shallow as he fell into her rhythm, allowing her to do as she pleased while the pleasure mounted. Everything worked against him, even if he thought it best to stop her, he couldn't; it was impossible—a stupid decision. He wanted this, _no—_Layla was what he wanted.

The surge of euphoria filling him was unlike what he ever felt before and twisted around, kissing her sloppily. He slipped a hand under her arm and pulled her body over his as he settled onto his back, giving her an awkward hold of him. He felt her lips curve against his, her hand working carefully, up and down his slick shaft.

"We—Layla—" he said breathlessly.

She silenced him with a deepened kiss.

Starrk struggled keeping his hands glued to his sides rather than roaming her body until the thoughts abandoned his brain, replaced by tingling waves of pleasure and a scorching heat, as he felt unable to hold onto savoring what she so gladly gave him.

Layla felt something thick and warm on her hands as he took a gulp of air. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips and whispered, "Better?"

He felt exhausted, but yes, generally better. He nodded.

She slid off the bed, reaching for the towel beside the basin. She cleaned her hands, handed the damp towel to him, suggesting he wipe himself clean, and get out of his dirtied clothes while she left the room with the basin. He did what she advised while hearing the doors close quietly behind her.

Layla returned shortly, crawled into bed and made herself comfortable beside him. He wound an arm about her waist loosely and she held onto his hands.

There was complete, utter solace. It was as though there was no need for conversation, and there wasn't.

Sleep took him quickly. No nightmares plagued him.

.

.

Layla opened her eyes slowly. She felt a throbbing pain rippling beneath her skin and the slight weight of Starrk's body over her slight form. She craned her neck back to see the top of Starrk's messy dark hair. He clung to her the entire night, not once loosening his grip, afraid that if he had, the space where she lay would be empty the following morning along with everything she came with.

No inscrutable emotion rose inside her as she assumed her position at his side. She was willing to lose a productive morning to give him peace. He deserved the reassurance and so, she closed her eyes.

A day in three years had not passed when her thoughts weren't filled with dark emotions and disturbing recollections, until that morning. Every bad experience was suddenly replaced with the happiness she missed the most.

* * *

Gwyneth continued walking by surreptitious conversations since the arrival of the Blacks, this time, coincidentally, a talk with each other. Mr. Black did not sound happy, but Mrs. Black remained completely calm, a trait of hers that she increasingly felt envious about.

"…know?" snapped Mr. Black harshly, the whispered words echoed about the kitchen.

The clattering of pans and the smell of freshly cooked food permeated beyond the walls. Mrs. Black stood before a chopping block, mincing lettuce and chopping carrots. The soft _clunk_ of the knife hitting the wood remained in consistent rhythm.

"I am not going to expose _him_," answered Mrs. Black, the undertone of her voice presented a threatening edge. "I don't think you have yet comprehended the seriousness of my situation. I expose him and it is over. I can never forgive myself."

"Yer gonna lie," said Mr. Black reproachfully. "If yer gonna lie, don't say anything at all."

"I can't expose him," said Mrs. Black again. "I can expose myself, but not him. If I did, these past three years were for nothing."

"What I said was he had a right to know—"

"_Enough_." The knife thudded softly on the counter; the action shook something inside Gwyneth as she stood by the partly opened kitchen, having been headed toward the parlor to continue practicing cross-stitching. Mrs. Black's heeled boots stepped forward. "Here are your carrots."

"I don't get what yer doing—_don't just throw 'em in!_"

"You're not supposed to _get _what I'm doing. You forgot to stir the stew. Honestly, you are going to burn something one of these days if you continue arguing with me."

"I'm trying to advise you, but yer so stupid, ya never listen."

"I don't have to listen to you or anyone, understand? You listen to me."

Gwyneth overheard enough to feel that was quite an insolent thing to say to one's husband and went on her way to the parlor noiselessly. She ran straight into Starrk on the way in, toppling over when he caught her by the arm and straightened her out.

"Be careful." He dropped her arm and strode past her. "If anyone asks, I went for a walk."

"Dinner is almost ready," said Gwyneth lightly. "Should you be leaving?"

"I won't be long."

Gwyneth nodded, bidding him farewell. She took a comfortable seat on the armchair by the window. A clear view of the dimly lit street filled her vision; the occasional passerby could be seen, as well as the children gathering to play together during the afternoons. She watched Starrk pass the window, he didn't look towards it, just continued walking.

"Ah, he's gone, good."

Gwyneth jolted, jerking around to see Mrs. Black standing by the door. "You scared me."

"I did knock, sorry."

"I didn't hear."

"Not loud enough," replied Mrs. Black. "I will be cleaning out the duke's bedchamber, if you need me. Dinner will be served in twenty minutes."

"Okay."

Gwyneth turned back to the window absently; the creak of the staircase reached her ears and the sound of footsteps came from the second floor. Something of an idea flitted across her mind as she jumped onto her feet and followed after Mrs. Black. She caught the housekeeper heaving new bed sheets into the Starrk's bedroom at the end of the hall. The doors were left partially open, making it easier for her to slip inside unnoticed.

Mrs. Black set the clean sheets on an empty armchair before pushing open the drapes and tying them up so they stayed out of her way.

Gwyneth had stepped forward, sighting the discarded bandages covered in blood tossed over the coverlet. The question she had come to ask disappeared when a new one sprang out.

"Is that blood?" she snapped, pointing at the stained gauze.

Mrs. Black looked completely passive. "Yes, I do believe it is."

Gwyneth blinked. "Is he hurt? Do you know how severely? He shouldn't be out—"

"Mrs. Gervais," said Mrs. Black clearly, speaking over her, "may I offer you a piece of advice?"

"You aren't answering my questions!"

The thought of Starrk being hurt distressed her. If he was, how badly? If he was, why did he not say anything to her? She hadn't taken her eyes off him since the journey started, and yet, he managed to get hurt during the intervals she had not been watching him.

Mrs. Black collected the dirty bandages and tossed them into an empty basket. "For your sake, Mrs. Gervais," she said, ignoring her demand, "have no expectations."

Gwyneth gaped. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"I am married!"

Mrs. Black had started tugging off the sheets, revealing a few drops of blood and shoved them into her basket. "Does saying it aloud make it less of a lie?"

_What? What? What?_

Gwyneth thought of nothing but the repetitive inquiry in her mind, her face unchanging. "You are being disrespectful!"

Mrs. Black directed her gaze to her. It was composed but piercing. She looked at her as if she were invisible, quite different from the peaceful, slightly insolent, Mrs. Black that had been spending many hours at her side catering to every one of her needs.

"You, my dear Gwyneth Stanton, are a _child_," she said testily. "Do _not _bite the hand that feeds you."

"What?" Gwyneth sputtered.

"Need I say more?"

Mrs. Black strode towards Gwyneth with the basket in her arms, the housekeeper was at least a foot taller, her features refined like an aristocrats, and she gave off a vibe that exuded danger—someone nobody dared object to.

Daunted, Gwyneth stepped out of the doorway, but hissed, "You have no right to speak to me this way."

"Advice," repeated Mrs. Black tonelessly. "I only offered my advice."

"Your advice is unnecessary."

Mrs. Black inclined her head and left the bedroom.

Gwyneth stepped out half a step behind her, set on leaving the house to find Starrk, and request he fire the Blacks when she noticed Mr. Black emerging from a different room with a short stack of books. Mrs. Black shot him a frightening glare, as if beckoning him to follow her, and he stalked after her wordlessly.

Gwyneth felt infinitely frustrated by the fact that she had to take the same route downstairs, having to deal with the horrid aura when a knock on the door disturbed the thick atmosphere. She stopped at the top of the staircase, having a clear view of the doorway and its surroundings; if she leaned forward, she was certain she could see whoever their guests were.

Mrs. Black set the basket out of sight, smoothed out her skirt, and opened the door.

Two strangers stood behind the door. One an extremely tall and very thin male with slick black hair that fell down his shoulders and the other was a woman with a round face and a mass of bright hair with wide hazel eyes.

"Whatdya know?" said the male. "She's in London." He found Mr. Black standing nearby. "An' she's brought along the sellout. How've ya been?"

"Hello, Nnoitra," greeted Mrs. Black monotonously, but the tone of her voice changed when she looked at the astonished woman. "Good evening Neliel, would you like some tea?"

Mr. Black looked disgruntled.

Nnoitra approached Mrs. Black with a wicked grin and breached her comfort zone when he leaned forward so close their faces were only inches apart. "Aint gonna offer me anything, eh?"

"Only if you prefer nightshade mixed into your tea," she said with a saccharine smile, brightening at the sight of his frown. "Now, get in or get out."

Neliel snapped out of her trance and pinched her cheek hard, blinking wildly as she stepped into the foyer looking at Mrs. Black as though she was a piece of sculpture she felt tempted to touch but afraid it could shatter.

Nnoitra laughed humorlessly as he shoved past her, heading into the parlor. "Still fuckin' hate yer guts, ya bitch."

Gwyneth felt her stomach twist. How were they acquainted? Why?

_Oh no! Are the Blacks planning to take over the household and leave me and Starrk out on the street—kill us for good measure?_

Mrs. Black looked straight at her and mouthed, "_Stay there,_" before whispering something to her husband and accompanied Neliel into the parlor where she expected Nnoitra had made himself comfortable. Gwyneth left the railing to return to her bedroom. She didn't want to be anywhere near that environment. If anything, she needed to plan an escape if they were hooligans out for the money.

.

.

"You just missed Starrk."

Neliel stared at Layla intently. It was, without a doubt, the same Layla she remembered, a bit on the thin side with an unfriendly edge and definitely matured. How was she supposed to react? It was like seeing a ghost in an abandoned manor. Somehow, she expected, if Layla was found, that it would be in a dingy underground area where she would lay helplessly chained and hurt badly. Their grand deduction skills saved her in the nick of time, any later and she might have died of malnourishment. Something exciting that took the collaboration of the entire Luisenbarn Court to solve (an impossible dream).

Layla looked perfectly healthy.

Then, suddenly, Neliel remembered the envelope in her hands. "Oh, I found this outside," she said quickly. "It's addressed to the Duchess of Warwick."

Shinji Hirako, the ex-chief of the Scotland Yard, took a seat in a nearby armchair, keeping an obvious eye on Nnoitra.

Layla opened the envelope—

"Ah, should you be doing that?" said Neliel nervously.

Layla skimmed the contents and noticed her expression change quickly.

"What's wrong?" asked Shinji.

"Franziska and Johann von Ulrich are in Warwickshire."

"Didn't ya say Franziska hated your dad's guts?"

"Franziska and Johann have been in London for five months," said Neliel, confused. "Is that wrong?"

"Are they alone?" asked Layla forcefully, startling her. "Did they come alone?"

"No," Neliel answered quickly. For a split second, a look of pure horror appeared on her face, so Neliel continued. "They brought their son, Emmett—left him in Surrey."

The expression faded into passiveness. "Are you certain it is only Emmett they brought?"

The front door opened and closed as Layla folded the letter. She fixed her gaze on Nnoitra that glared in return.

"You said you knew I was in London. How?"

Nnoitra snorted. "Ya don't know?"

"Starrk was sent an anonymous letter that claimed you were still alive and in London," answered Neliel.

Starrk entered the parlor, tugging out his coat and acknowledging his cousins. "Did you just get here?"

"We just got here," said Neliel.

"Seeing as yer wife's still alive mean we can leave?" asked Nnoitra.

"I'm meeting Bakalov this weekend, I need both of you."

Layla rose from her seat. "Do you have the anonymous letter?"

"What anonymous letter?" asked Starrk, confused.

"The one that claimed I was in London."

He thought about it shortly. "I believe so, why do you want it?"

"Franziska and Johann von Ulrich are in Warwickshire."

Starrk nodded. "They've been here for five months."

"Just show me the letter," she pressed impatiently.

"Come on."

Layla looked to Shinji and gestured for him to follow. Shinji left his seat and walked behind both Starrk and Layla as they headed up the staircase.

Starrk took on his surroundings before slipping into his bedroom.

"Where's Gwyn?"

"I don't care," said Layla, pushing past him into the room.

Shinji walked in after Starrk and shut the door behind them. Layla plopped down on the bare mattress, waiting patiently for her husband to proffer the anonymous letter.

Starrk handed it to her, taking it out of a drawer.

"What're ya looking for?" questioned Shinji.

"I want to know too," added Starrk.

Layla opened the letter and searched the contents, staring at the handwriting over and over, as if unsure.

"What's so important about Franziska and Johann von Ulrich?"

Shinji looked to Layla, who nodded.

"We've been using their names as aliases to get around easier. No one knows 'em, Aizen hates 'em, win-win."

"_We've _been here for five months. It makes no sense why they would actually come, my aunt hates his guts."

"Your aunt?"

"Yes, my aunt. Father dislikes her too, so he's never validated her existence." Layla continued rereading, analyzing the letter through and through, almost as if trying to prove her thoughts incorrectly. "Nobody gets along with father, at least inside the family; cost them their royal status in Austria."

Shinji blinked confused. "Yer supposed to be a princess?"

"Would, perhaps, the title doesn't exist anymore—it shouldn't."

"Look at that, ya married a princess," said Shinji, amazed.

"Don't throw that in his face? He knows it was a sham."

"Ah, sorry, didn't think she'd tell ya." Starrk nodded, more curious about what Layla was trying to do. Shinji peered over her shoulder and continued, "That from Gray? Bakalov? Byrd?"

After a lengthy silence, Layla sighed deeply, miserably. "None."

"Do you know who it's from?" asked Starrk.

"Nate," she answered, disturbed.

"Nate?" both men repeated the foreign name in their tongues simultaneously.

Layla stared at the two perplexed. "Wait—you don't know who Nate is?" She looked at her husband a bit longer, expectant he would be able to put a face to the name, but he remained oblivious. She handed back the letter, waved a dismissive hand and said, "Well, it's not important."

"Who the fuck is _Nate_?" complained Shinji, getting to his feet. "An' whatdya mean not important, he practically sold ya out."

"I can't really explain Nate." She shrugged her shoulders, dissuading them into ignoring the subject altogether. "I would have much rather either one of you know him."

"Well, what's he want?"

"I suppose he's still angry."

She patted Shinji's shoulder after standing, silently dismissing him as he left grumbling beneath his breath. He accidentally let the door slam behind him as he called back apologies before heading downstairs to find something better to do than sit in a parlor full of the criminals he spent years trying to put in jail.

"Who is Nate?" asked Starrk, shattering the silence that had dawned between them.

"He's not important," she stressed. "I feel that letter is useless, I don't see what he gets out of reuniting us."

Starrk dropped his gaze to the creased letter in his hand and waved it. "Is it true?"

"What?"

"That our child is alive."

Layla stood before him, eyes unblinking and strong, but full of pain. Tension built up between them as he expected a direct answer, no matter the cost—she wouldn't get away with this, in his mind—and she wished to keep silent.

"No, it is not," she said, irritable. "Our child died, and as her mother, I should have been able to save her, but I couldn't."

She blinked and he watched the action, noticing something fall in a straight, invisible line onto her skirts. The glistening trail the single tear left behind remained on her face.

He understood where the conversation headed; it was obvious. His constant questioning about the child she had been carrying in her womb before her disappearance, she was willing to divulge the words he wanted to hear now, but his heart sank out of sight.

Starrk took her hands. "You don't have to—"

"…called her Margaret," she whispered, hands shaking, trying to keep her emotions from overflowing. "She was tiny, so small, I thought I would break her if I held on too tight, and she had your eyes."

He shut his eyes painfully. "Stop Layla—"

"You're the one that's been asking! Why can't you listen now?" she snapped. "Her name was Margaret, she came too soon, underdeveloped, and her tiny heartbeat pounded softly against my fingertips—hard, so full of life, and then dimly…slowly fading. Her heart stopped as she slept in my arms." She was suppressing sobs with great difficulty. "She was only with me for one hour and I couldn't handle it. She was so perfect."

Starrk enveloped her into a tight embrace, hearing her hiccup into his chest and cry aloud. His own heart was breaking along with the reopening of her wounds.

"Don't hate me, I tried to keep her safe," she managed incoherently.

He tightened his grip. What words of comfort could he offer? It pained him to acknowledge this, but he was not there when it happened. She was and the image of her, brimming with happiness holding tiny Margaret in her arms only to realize wasn't sleeping, it made his stomach turn. He had to say something, anything.

"We can have more children, Layla," he said quietly. "However many you want, when this is over."

Maybe it had been a stupid thing to say. Have more children to replace the one they had lost, but would it really matter if they had more. The children would be loved unconditionally and born into the ideal household, pampered and forever secure, but what would they be doing to themselves—leaving broken wounds open.

It sounded right at the time.

She nodded with her shaking hands fisted over his back.

A knock rang at his door.

"Starrk?"

Gwyneth.

Layla wiped her tears furiously as the door opened. She stood too close to Starrk and quickly headed for the door, muttering a quick, "Excuse me," that shook as it left her lips.

Gwyneth's eyes followed her until she disappeared downstairs and her gaze snapped back at him.

"She is _married_," she stated forcefully, "to Mr. Black. Are you planning to have an affair with her right under his nose?"

He started to hate that self-righteous side of Gwyneth. "We were only talking."

"Then why was she crying in your arms?"

"She's heard her father passed, I gave her the letter personally. She's gone to tell Mr. Black."

"Oh." Gwyneth was stunned, but even so remembered her insults earlier. "She's been impertinent to me."

"How so?"

"She's advised me not to have expectations."

Starrk watched the color bloom in her cheeks.

"You should take her advice, she is quite right, you shouldn't."

Gwyneth's doll-like features angered. "Why not? You can't even be sure you still love your wife!" she said reproachfully. "Can you even say it to yourself and mean it? Say that you still love Layla Aizen like you did three years ago—"

"My wife needs me."

"If she's even alive!"

"I only want to be with her—"

"—Your reasons are so selfish! Can you not see that you are merely clinging to the idea? You don't love her, you probably haven't for quite some time," she stated strongly. "Her memory only keeps you safe, but it won't help you survive if you plan to get information out of Bakalov, he's dangerous."

Starrk felt the fury rising. She understood nothing.

"So why can't you just understand that you've moved on and let me have my expectations?"

"I have not," he said with finality.

Gwyneth reached the crossroads; she huffed furiously and left his bedroom.

_Layla needs me._

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

I am ashamed of writing this chapter and the next. After writing them, I felt so horrible about taking this direction that I literally considered erasing them and writing new chapters to replace them. I didn't in the end. In fact, I'm actually going to look forward to the response.

You can get your happy chapters from Rovina and Ukitake. I think they have a beautiful storyline (I'm currently in the middle of it! I love it! It makes my heart flutter! Hahaha!) and I am enjoying the process.

Confetti showers to **OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO** for reviewing again! :)

Thank you for reading! :)


	52. Brittle Resolve 6

[II. **Camellia**]

Eleven: _**Brittle Resolve VI**_

_Give me truths_

_I'll trade you lies_

_Deal in deaths_

_Roll in rhymes_

_Take your prayers_

_Sell them cheap_

_Count your money_

_And let them weep_

* * *

"Ya need ta cut back on the jealous fits."

Layla stood in front of the mantel, warming her cold feet. Shinji observed her with a broad grin from his seat at the foot of their _marital _bed, amused with the transgressions of their week and a half stay with Starrk and the angelic Gwyneth. Even he had not been oblivious to Gwyneth's childish crush on Starrk. She watched him vigilantly and blushed if he ever gave her a look that lasted even a second longer. If she caught him staring at Layla, she would throw her own jealous fit, cleverly disguised in her own naivety and self-denial.

It bothered Layla more than he had expected.

"He is _my_ husband. I have worked far too hard to simply let the next doll-faced fool take him as their own."

"Ya should definitely have a go at some truth. Mighta appreciate you more, an' lighten up a bit, yer starting to creep me out." Shinji pulled his legs onto the mattress to sit cross-legged at the edge. "Ya already knew what to expect. He coulda been married or in love with another person."

"I wouldn't mind disappearing a few young women."

"An' if he truly loved one of them more, wouldn't the fact that he'll always be thinkin' of someone else bother ya?"

She flinched. He made a plausible point.

"I don't want to think that way."

"Three years makes a difference, Layla."

When she jerked around to face him, her eyes were blazing. "Have three years made any difference for you? Or are you still thinking about the same girl."

"…That's different, Layla, I never had anythin'—"

"Why does not having much history have to do with it?"

"We've got a history, but we weren't ever romantically involved, she's jus' a brat."

Layla took a deep breath, recomposing herself. "I do think he loves me."

"Is he _in _love with you?" he asked straightly. "Anybody could love you. I do. Yer a great friend, this has been the best adventure I've been on. Sure, the pay sucks for the shit ya make me do, but yer one o' the smartest person I've ever met, not to mention you've got a nasty sense humor. Orihime, William, Mia, and Mina, they all love you, yer a very special person to them. Starrk could love ya the same, yer just his first love, an' God knows those never last."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"Ya wanna feel better, go uncork that bottle of aged merlot in the kitchen, an' try not ta kill Gwyneth with it."

"I wouldn't lay a hand on her—not worth it."

"_Ouch._"

Layla slid a coat over her nightgown and left out the door, willing to take Shinji's advice to drink chilled merlot. She reached the silent kitchen and lit a candle to light the darkness, dug through a cupboard for a wineglass and found the bottle hidden inside the damnable drawer that often stuck. It had taken a few jerks to open. She popped it open and sat on a wooden stool by the counter where she minced most vegetables. She poured the first half glass, savored it a bit, but gulped it down shortly after.

She filled her glass a second time, drank it fast.

The third time took a while, but paved way to the fourth, fifth, and sixth which were downed in one gulp. The following two glasses she considered a shot of courage. By the tenth, she corked the bottle, blew out the candle and rammed into the door on her way out, dizzy and wobbly. Her bruises would worsen come tomorrow morning, hurt like hell, but at that moment, all she felt was a peaceful numb.

Layla had to crawl up the rest of the stairs after tripping halfway to the upper floor. She burst out laughing when her knees hit the hard floor, but desperately held a hand over her mouth to prevent the noise from waking the sleepy residents. She forgot the way back to her sleeping quarters with Shinji. She was prepared to wake him and start telling bad bird and rattlesnake jokes because she heard plenty during their travels apart.

It took her wandering around the second level and entering Starrk's bedroom at random to realize her bed was somewhere downstairs. She snorted into her hand, shrugging her shoulders at the useless thought of going all the way downstairs to reclaim her place with her second pretend husband. Instead, pleasantly wicked ideas filled her head as she wobbled onto the bed, slipping over the sheets and hitting Starrk's body hard.

_What the hell is he made of?_

He stirred uncomfortably which meant either she was moving too much or making enough noise to pull him out of deep sleep, either way, she appreciated his acknowledgment as she straddled his waist. The lazy fool stayed in his evening clothes, ascot messily undone and hanging from his neck. This complicated things. If he had been in his comfortable clothes, she could have him topless within seconds, whereas, here, she needed to unbutton his jacket, then his vest, then the shirt, and finally reach his firm, perfect chest. In her state, she expected to drool over him for a wasteful amount of minutes, literally and figuratively—the drunken side of her person was scandalously unscrupulous—then remember her duty.

_That's a lot of buttons._

She peeled off his clothes layer-by-layer until she finally unwrapped him and leaned forward, pressing her face against his chest. She traced her fingers along his torso, up and down, side to side, in circles and triangles (once circular motions grew boring) and focused on the sound of his heartbeat, thumping softly in synch with his leveled breathing.

Her eyelids drooped sleepily.

"Layla, you're drooling on me."

"You don't know that," she snapped drunkenly.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked groggily, coming to most of his senses and smelling the alcohol off her skin.

"Yes, I nearly finished the entire bottle!" Layla lifted her head, facing him with a shameless smile. "Haven't had such good wine in quite some time. So, now that you're up? Dya wanna hear a joke?"

"Joke?"

"A real live one," she snipped, nodding her head joyfully. "It wasn't even there anymore."

She burst into an awkward fit of laughter after delivering the joke's punch line before telling the joke itself and stared at Starrk accusingly. "You didn't laugh at my joke. Took me ages to perfect."

Starrk blinked. "You haven't told it yet."

"It's okay," she said, shrugging. "I came for something else."

"What?"

Layla leaned forward, hands splayed across his chest. "I understand I am quite hideous at the moment, but I am honestly unsatisfied with last night. So I need you to give me permission to, you know, have a good romp."

She thought she saw Starrk flush red, but she was so drunk it was expected to see things differently. She felt the protests coming along when he opened his mouth and slapped her hand over it, a bit harder than planned. She apologized, kissing his lips, and returned to her proposition.

"You won't hafta look. It's dark and I have gauze over them. You just gotta love me again, like you did three years ago, as if it were the first night."

"I…could…hurt…"

She heard snippets of his excuse, grabbed his clothes and tugged him up to face her directly. He didn't get out of the whole fear of hurting her; it was getting annoying, but more importantly, it was something different. Her eyebrows creased, lips trembling.

"Then hurt me!" she snapped. "Just do it and stop complaining!"

Starrk stared up at her pale face, taken aback.

"I want to feel something other than this hatred," she continued painfully. "It won't hurt, an' if it does, I don't care because it'll feel good too."

No urge to resist arose.

Starrk pushed her into a seated position as he assumed his. He tugged off his jackets, tossing them over the side of the bed. He kissed her ardently as he began sliding the coat off her shoulders and going under her nightgown to take it off her body. Most bruises and cuts were hidden behind the gauze; he noticed when he flipped her onto her back. She giggled noisily, twining her arms around his neck and drew him forward.

* * *

Layla dropped out of bed in a post-drunken stupor and rolled along until the thick coverlet wrapped around her body snuggly. She blinked away the blurriness of her vision, groggy and incredibly thirsty. As suspected, her body was raked with pain, daunted by exhaustion, and wishing her cover of housekeeper didn't require waking at five in the morning to help with breakfast and prepare tea. She hardly missed her pampered years; she had reasons to which she would gladly bid farewell to her life of privilege, something she had yet to accomplish, but that didn't mean she wouldn't miss sleeping until eleven and having brunch instead of breakfast.

Starrk peered over the edge, having heard the loud thud, surprised she hadn't groaned in complaint. "Are you waking up?"

"I'd rather not," she said airily, yesterdays' sensations tingled throughout her body still.

"Stay in your cocoon for the day."

She laughed dryly. "Cocoon."

Starrk sneezed. "Cold."

"You wanted to share a bed; you know I'm a messy sleeper."

"I hardly slept."

Layla frowned, catching the hint in his playful tone, despite her memories being a complete blur. "You should never take advantage of a drunken woman."

"I am a gentleman."

She snorted scathingly. "Are you?"

"You rather I wasn't."

"You're a complete rake," she mumbled harshly. "The only difference between you and the other notorious womanizers is you know how to keep your affairs _private._"

"That's very offensive."

"I suppose you grew up surrounded by beautiful Spanish women, shapely creatures, they are," grumbled Layla enviously. "England isn't half bad either, lots of regality if you prefer that, and lots of older, beautiful married woman searching for a good fling. So, why did you settle for me?"

Starrk flopped onto his stomach, folding his arms under his chin. "You think I settled?"

"…My father kept me in Surrey with a governess and a lady-in-waiting since the age of nine, people suspected of my existence, but as far as everyone knew, I was simply the daughter of a large family. I was never properly presented to society, simply thrust out there when my father thought it was fine, by then, only a few knew I was actually Aizen's daughter. 'Course that's when your grandfather came upon the clever idea to have one of his seventy grandsons—"

"There aren't seventy of us," defended Starrk.

"—Could be." Layla smirked. "…I was to be enchanted by one of his handsome—I am using this term loosely—grandsons, completely ensnared to the point of obsession, and then, ultimately cause my father harm by killing his favorite. I am his favorite, your grandfather was right."

"What are you trying to say?"

Layla emerged from the heap of blankets on the ground, nursing her pained sides. The nightgown looked transparent in the sunny glow behind her. "I am saying that I am no longer the unattainable, not for you," she said tonelessly. "I can wait forever, but you have already moved on."

Starrk pulled himself into a seat as she crossed the room, picking up her discarded coat. "What about yesterday? Did that mean nothing to you?"

She stopped with her door on the handle. "It meant everything to me, but was it just pleasure for you?"

He stiffened, unable to offer a rebuke.

Layla swung open the door, exiting gracefully. A loud gasp sounded, and it was enough for her to know Gwyneth was heading down the hallway when she watched her leave the room in a scanty nightgown.

"I quit," called Layla. "I'm not cut out for domestic work."

"What about Mr. Black?" cried Gwyneth. "You should be ashamed of yourself, both of you."

Starrk scrambled out of bed and rushed after her, poorly dressed. "Layla, stop this!"

"Layla?" squeaked Gwyneth incredulously. "She's your wife? Dear God!"

Layla felt Starrk jerk her around to face him, ashamed by the glassiness of her eyes.

Yesterday, whatever yesterday was, it was not love. He might have practically forced himself and she was not foolish enough not to notice the difference between all those first times three years ago to this, gaping piece of nothing. Not only that, her attempts to guilt him into realization, into offering him a reason to stay with her was nothing short of petty. She never once thought she would stoop down to Robin Talbot's level, scheming and spiteful, and the jaws of envy minced her insides into mush.

"Don't—"

"You don't understand!" she yelled, tugging her arm free of his grasp. "This was supposed to happen! This large immeasurable gap between us was supposed to happen!"

"We can fix—"

Starrk attempted to take a calm approach, but something in Layla's snapped.

"I am not the same Layla you eloped with three years ago!" Layla saw that her shouts had drawn attention as Neliel and Nnoitra came into her view exiting the corridor to the landing. Neliel elbowed the smirk off Nnoitra's face, who complained lowly. Gwyneth looked frightened, a bit green. Behind her, she could discern the rush of steps belonged to Shinji. "I won't ever be the same again! We can't fix _this_! This has been over since that garnet ring returned to you."

Starrk paled. "You returned it."

"I gave it to Constantine," she admitted, taking a breath. "You were going to Warwickshire over the weekend. I had no need for it, couldn't wear it, couldn't treasure it—I needed nothing but my own focus…and this was all a big, selfish mistake."

Shinji stepped toward her, but she made one swift gesture to stop him from saying anything.

"…That doesn't matter," said Starrk quickly, almost helpless. "You are only hurt, you—"

"I am not just _hurt,_" she said, offended. "I spent five months being hurt. The next years, I lived _tortured _and _humiliated_. I lived in absolute fear, wishing every day that I was dead."

Shinji grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her away from Starrk. His unconscious gesture drew her attention back to everyone else present in the hallway. She allowed her body to sway backward, her eyes refocused on Starrk's overwhelmed expression. Everything she finished saying had been too much. She swallowed hard.

"We'll be out of this house as soon as possible," she said, feeling her bodyguard's grip loosen. "When I leave, you will all continue living your lives as though I don't exist."

Neliel stepped forward. "But Layla, you can't just go out on your own. If you need anything, we can help you. Revenge is easier for us."

"I'm sorry, I just can't."

"I'll get everything packed, inform the lookout too," whispered Shinji, as he dropped his hold on her shoulders and started down the stairs.

Layla looked at Gwyneth, not with contempt or fury, but as she would have if they had met before, fairly. "Forgive me, Gwyneth Stanton," she said earnestly. "Never let anyone monopolize your life at the cost of pettiness. And for heaven's sake, open your eyes."

Gwyneth stayed silent, disconnected, and only stared back at her.

Layla walked to the staircase, turning her back to Starrk, when he reached for her once more. His hand clasped hers, shaking with emotion. "Why is he your confidant?" he asked darkly. "Why couldn't it be me?"

"He didn't give up," she said clearly. "He hunted me down, traveled all the way to Scotland to find me, and struggled to keep me safe." A warm trickle fell down her face. "You chose to stay with my memory instead, blinded by the idea of my death that you couldn't see beyond it."

"You were dead! What was I supposed to do?" he shouted, losing composure. "We got past everything else, why not this?"

"Because I wanted you to save me," she whispered, broken.

His hold loosened and she slipped away. Those words were his poison and the haunt of his nightmares manifested into flesh, bone, and sound. He heard them echoing and felt them sink in.

This poison would kill him slowly.

.

.

Downstairs in the corner room she inhabited with Shinji, she found the blond stuffing only the essentials into a bag. She rushed in wiping furiously at her tears and grabbed hold of the clothes he tossed in her direction.

"There is an inn around here," she said thickly. "We can stay there until Nocturne passes. There is a slim chance we might find Byrd."

"Do you have a pass?"

"I have an appointment to meet Talbot. I will enter in her place."

"Wow. Talbot's actually agreed?"

"I threatened her. She cherishes her beauty more than her pride."

Layla was buttoning a men's shirt while simultaneously tugging on a pair of black pants. She rushed through the dressing process, doing a messy job, but managed to hide everything well with a long coat. She tucked her hair into a hat and heard Shinji snort.

"I understand I make quite the effeminate man, but keep it to yourself and hurry up!" she hissed, tossing a jacket into his face. "We need Soifon _immediately_."

A loud crash sounded and a rumble of voices reached their ears, muffled.

"Where is she?"

Layla recognized the voice and ran to the door quickly, hat falling off her head. She pulled it open; there was only one reason why Soifon would break into a house in search for her. Her heartbeat sped dreadfully.

Soifon came into sight, shoving past Neliel with a hand clenched over a large gash in her stomach. She stumbled when her dark eyes lifted to her employer.

"Gray found him. He's sent people to Surrey," she said breathlessly, pain carved into her expression. Up close, Layla could see more wounds on her, plenty scratches and scrapes on her face and her arms. The blood had dried, but she could still smell it. "Bakalov let slip a couple men."

Once more, she was surrounded by everyone residing in the manor. Gwyneth peeked out from the parlor down the hall. Shinji stepped out of the room, bags packed and fully dressed. And the world around her came crashing onto her back, every nerve shot pain through every inch of her body as the emotions swelled.

"Credible source?" Shinji asked, noting Layla's pleading expression.

"Bakalov's right hand," said Soifon crisply.

"Shit." Shinji ran a hand over his head, in complete disbelief. "We aint got time ta waste."

Layla's heart plummeted, and painfully, she asked, "Is there anyone in the countryside manor?"

Soifon shook her head. "Rye is following a lead on Byrd, Madarame went with him."

The desperation shone through as she struggled to keep her voice from faltering and eyes from watering. "I need to go. Take the fastest way there."

"Train?" suggested Shinji.

"The last train passing Surrey left ten minutes ago, your only choice is carriage," said Soifon, cringing. "I'll go with you."

Layla shook her head. "Get medical attention, follow me once you've done that," she ordered, voice quivering. "Shinji, I need you to seek out Talbot, tell her she'd best count her blessings if she chooses to run from our agreement. Then, contact my father—" Many faces looked seconds from blowing with the amount of information being tossed in every direction, except Gwyneth, who knew little of the business. "—and tell him I'll be in Warwickshire with Constantine."

"Ya don't plan on goin' alone; there's gotta be like—"

"Twenty men. Russian mafia," Soifon said promptly.

Layla snatched the bag from his hands. "Just do as I say. Soifon will come as soon as she's seen a doctor."

"I'll alert the guards in London, have them go on ahead."

Soifon excused herself, hands trembling, as she disappeared beyond the hall, leaving a thin trail of blood behind.

Shinji rubbed her shoulder. "Everythin'll turn up. I'll get on the first train to Warwickshire."

He took one final look at her, smiled reassuringly and left the corridor as well, leaving Layla with everyone's eyes on her. If she allowed the emotions to flood her system, the desperation would get her killed, but that didn't mean she was any less worried about the soon-to-happen events in her family's countryside manor. A train would have shortened the distance, but the manor sat way out in the middle of nowhere, overlooked by a town in the next county and a thick forest—perfect for hiding.

_Breathe._

She did. She found Starrk, hurt and helpless, unable to tear his eyes from her. "I need a carriage."

"What's happening?" asked Neliel, concerned.

"Gray found my weakness."

"Yer stupider than ya look," stated Nnoitra offensively. "Russian mafia? Twenty men? Yer gonna be mincemeat when this is over."

"I can accompany you," said Neliel, glaring at Nnoitra coldly. "I can help."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Why?" asked Starrk darkly. "You're hiding something aren't you? Something important."

"Please provide me a carriage and let me go," she said calmly.

Time was running fast. Every minute wasted brought a new grotesque image to her mind, of blood splattered across the ancient portraits and bodies lying on the ground.

"What are you hiding?" he pressed.

"Stop this."

"What is so important?"

"You are making me waste my time."

"I don't care."

She felt a jab in her chest at his tone of voice, cold, almost cruel. She hurt him so badly; he had forgotten whom he was speaking to. "If you don't let me pass, you'll regret it."

"No," he said resolutely. "What are you trying to protect?"

Layla's patience stretched further and further with each passing minute. She stood immobile by the doorway, the grip on her bag tightened until her nails were digging into her palm.

"Don't pry into my business, Starrk."

"I can keep you here, Layla; you'll just have to wait to hear the news when it comes."

Layla took a startling breath and stepped closer to him, stopping in front of him. "Do not test me, Starrk."

"What weakness is Gray exploiting and why?" he asked coldly.

"Forget it," she said strongly. "I don't need your help."

Layla pushed past him spitefully. She made it out to the doorway, but not without Starrk at her heels. She heard the murmur of voices as Neliel grabbed a hold of Gwyneth and gave her a healthy push toward the stairway. Nnoitra, bored, left the corridor immediately, finding their marital problems were going to go on forever.

"You need to trust me, Layla."

She went on walking, exiting the front door, hoping and wishing that when she slammed it shut, it hit Starrk in the face. _Trust him?_ She didn't even want to be near him, and if she had to, she might succumb to the urge of hitting him.

Starrk persisted, following her out into the sidewalk. He caught sight of Madam Tilley peering from the window and ignored her wave as he sprinted after Layla. "Do you plan to walk there? In your condition?"

"I don't care if I have to crawl there!" she snapped.

"You're going to get killed!"

"Does it look like I care what happens to me?"

Heading straight into danger without any bodyguards, by her lonesome without a proper plan, everything last minute, of course he feared she was merely walking in death's direction. He provoked her. He believed that if he gave her no alternative, she would say what she was trying to prevent from happening. Layla was important to him, seeing or knowing she died was something he wasn't ready going through again.

Starrk caught her, firm around the waist and pulled her off her feet, forcing her to drop her bag. She yelped and struggled against him as he walked the short distance to his home, garnering unnecessary attention from the nosy neighbors, particularly Madam Tilley.

"Let go of me!" cried Layla. "You are making me waste time I don't have!"

"I was serious when I said I'd lock you up until you're honest with me."

"If anything happens—if anything happens—" she said breathlessly, letting out a pained grunt as her struggle and his iron grip put great strain on the fresh bruises. "I can't let anything happen—"

Starrk dropped her ungracefully in his foyer after she aimed and elbowed him in the face. As she scrambled to her feet and threw herself towards the door, he rushed to lock it, standing between her and the exit.

"Just let her go!" shouted Neliel, furious.

"Stay out of this!" he snapped, eyes blazing at Layla. "I'm not letting you out until you—"

Layla punched him in the nose, nearly breaking it for a second time, as there was a strong wave of pain and a disgusting crunch, but that might have been her. Starrk covered his nose quickly, blood poured out into his palms.

"Emmett!" she said furiously. Her voice almost resembled a screech.

Starrk had leaned into the door to keep himself from slumping to the ground upon impact. "What about him?"

"He's my son," she whispered murderously. "He's my son. If he is killed by Gray's men because of you, I'll kill you too."

"…But" he hardly paid the threat any mind.

Neliel gasped. "Franziska and Johann left Emmett von Ulrich at the Aizen manor five months ago," she said quickly. "And you were using those aliases—"

"He's the reason. Now get out of the way." She shoved his shoulder harshly but he wouldn't budge. "Out."

It took him another minute to compose himself, reaching into a pocket to retrieve a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. "Take the carriage, but Nnoitra and I go as well."

"I don't care; just get out of the way!" she cried desperately.

Neliel quickly called Nnoitra, knowing her duty was to babysit Gwyneth. Layla rushed out to retrieve her bag from the middle of the road when both cousins emerged from inside the dark house. The carriage that brought his cousins yesterday evening and the coach, so happened to be Ggio, who doubled as a bodyguard for the Luisenbarn rolled up in front of them.

Ggio stared at Starrk's bloodied nose awkwardly. "What happened to you?"

"Leyha," he answered, muffled by the handkerchief and pointing behind him.

Layla nearly knocked Nnoitra over as he attempted to enter the carriage first.

"What the fuck, Layla?"

"Hurry up!"

Once everyone was inside securely, the carriage started down the road. Layla's hands shook and her mind remained completely black.

Starrk could only remember the tiny redheaded boy tumbling around the garden with Vinny. She lied to him about the dead child, even went as far as to switching the gender and crying him a river. He couldn't look at her face, didn't want to because he knew that if she even glanced at him, he'd have something horrible to say.

"Congratulations, yer a dad now."

He glared scathingly at Nnoitra.

* * *

**Beta'd by**: LuLuckyTiger

* * *

**x L i l i m**:

Firstly, I have to seriously thank LuLuckyTiger for deciding to beta for this story, along with "Thirteen," I am forever grateful. She does a wonderful job. :)

And next, bam! What a shocker this chapter turned out to be. So I totally decided to just go ahead and ruin everyone's lives in Masquerade with the hopes that this won't come back and bite me in the ass later. Fingers crossed.

Now, as mentioned in the previous chapters, this is the end of the **Brittle Resolve **chapters, so you're going to have to deal with this sort-of cliffhanger for the next four chapters, but maybe there are a couple of secrets for you to learn in **Entrust the Heart** with Rovina and Ukitake. ;) That and of course, they're lovely and after the mess I've made here, there needs to be a little more hope.

Until next time.

P.S: Also, if you have an lj (even though you can totally leave comments with other accounts like twitter or google accounts and facebook) and love OCs, please join/watch my new community imagine_oc livejournal! I need more members to keep it going! So far, I'm just post updates there, but I hope to host weekly recommendations for new fanfiction, but that's when I get a bit more support. :) I might even start taking requests. ;P Also, vote in my poll!


	53. Entrust the Heart 1

[II. **Camellia**]

Twelve: _**Entrust the Heart I**_

_The public will tell stories about this duchess_

_How she ran away, _

_Jumping into the arms of the first man to show interest,_

_And how dreadful that day will be_

_Were it to ever dawn_

* * *

Rovina Stephenson wanted to feel the satisfaction of doing onto Elliot as he had done onto her—_revenge, _she figured mentally, _for the times he's hurt me—_but throughout the lengthy carriage ride, with her glassy blue eyes watching the scenery change from snow-covered roads to rows of pines toppled white. The doors rattled when the blizzard started. In those silent moments, she felt the warmth of Jūshirō's frock coat falling onto her shoulders, meanwhile, in her mind, she wondered if she should have hit Elliot harder than humanly possible. She thought about what would happen if he died from the impact. Would she be happy? Should she not have hit him at all?

As the storm grew wilder, three days after their secret departure from Willowside Castle, the coach found an abandoned barn where he decided it best to house the carriage until the storm blew over. The carriage was driven inside, left in the farthest corner. The coach undid the horses' reigns and placed them into the fenced in area in the other edge. It seemed the barn served to keep horses as well as other animals. He started a fire in the center of the room, using old hay and a log from a stack nearby.

Rovina absently took a seat beside Jūshirō, their shoulders touching ever so slightly. Her eyes reflected the dancing flames; the fire warmed her hands quickly and soon soothed her body.

How did Elliot react when he realized she was gone? Did panic well up in his stomach? Did he grow furious and break things in the bedroom they shared in Willowside Castle? Would he be on his way to Thornepike Manor to ensure she had only returned to their home and punish her for doing so without permission?

"Are you hungry?"

She blinked. The thoughts vanished like tendrils of smoke. Her gaze locked with Jūshirō's kind, effervescent eyes. The weight in her chest felt a thousand times lighter. A smile appeared on her face, the dread inconsequential, butterflies in her stomach. He promised to help, and he was doing his best, even risking himself to ensure she reached safety.

She forgot about food, but knew her stomach was rumbling for a reason and nodded. He excused the lack of extravagant food when he placed into her cupped hands a round loaf of bread with jelly filling. He shared a canteen full of water, apologized once more for the poor choice, but she enjoyed everything.

Sitting arm to arm with him, chewing quietly on the jelly bread, and stealing glances at him as he concentrated on the fire as if he expected something to jump out. The way he drank from the canteen, slowly, taking in only a sip of the water inside, and how for a split second wanted to her lips to be the mouth of that canteen. She had to shake the thoughts out of her mind immediately.

So long as she held the title as Duchess of Cambridge, having expectations of other men was prohibited.

Rovina and Jūshirō slept inside the carriage, sitting on the same side where they had a perfectly good view of the fire in the center of the room elongating the shadows of the resting horses. Jūshirō covered her with his coat when she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He placed his cheek on the top of her head, feeling awkward and embarrassed. Somehow, he slept in that same position and sometime throughout the night, her hand found its way to his.

The coach had been urged to take the seat across them, but refused, saying he wanted to make sure the horses rested under the conditions. He ended up asleep beside the fire until it burnt out in the morning. The abandoned barn had creaked and moaned in the wild winds, but remained perfectly safe.

Rovina woke slowly, her fingers laced with Jūshirō's, and she didn't dare move knowing he was sleeping with his head on hers. It amused her, embarrassed her most of all, but it made her giddy. She tentatively flexed her fingers over his, and ran them along his palm. He had large hands and soft fingers. She played with his hand, holding it and feeling it, took it once and brought it to her lips. It was curiosity. She wanted to see if he would wake, but he didn't and she grew comfortable all over again.

Her eyes drooped until they finally closed. She was asleep before realizing.

The second time she woke, she felt the familiar bumps of the road and knew they were on the move again. She opened her eyes, feeling Jūshirō's shoulder underneath her cheek and glanced down to the open book inside his hands. He read quietly for as long as she pretended to sleep, too comfortable to want to move. Strands of his hair tickled the side of her face; it was smooth and sleek.

"What are you reading?" she asked suddenly.

Jūshirō flinched and snapped the book shut. "Just a medicine book."

Rovina straightened out feeling aches and pains all over her body as she stretched her arms over her head and massaged her throbbing neck. "What is it about?"

"Herbs," he said easily. "A lot have good healing properties, curing burns with aloe vera, and…" He gave details about different plants for various ailments, including headaches and stomachaches cured by specific tea leaves. She watched him with great interest; he looked like a child at a circus, but caught himself as he finished talking about how yarrow could be used to staunch bleeding. "…Am I boring you?"

"No," she said sincerely, "I think I rather enjoy hearing about your passions."

He flushed. She saw a tint of pink on his cheeks. "Really?"

Rovina nodded and glanced at the book tentatively. "Could I have a look once you're done?"

"Here," he said, placing it in her hands.

"Are you sure?"

"I've read it about a dozen times. I probably know it by memory now."

"I will be quizzing you on that," she said warningly.

He laughed. "Feel free."

She settled into a comfortable position then looked up to him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he said, flushed.

Rovina rested her head on his shoulder and flipped through the book. She started reading from the beginning and immersed herself in the script, barely conscious of the remainder of the trip.

Without realizing, they had arrived at their destination and Lord Ukitake was helping her out of the carriage. She tucked his medicine book underneath her arm and sighed as she straightened her numbed limbs, relieved to stretch out her legs over the cobblestone path that led to a fairly spacious square home situated in a farm. Rovina's eyes flickered to Jūshirō, seeking the confirmation he gave with a simple smile and nod.

For a brief moment of complete disbelief, Rovina took in the sight of peace and imagined that it was a dream. Eventually, she might jerk out of slumber with the slam of a door and the sound of Elliot's complaints. It could happen any second now and she would once again feel deflated, disappointed, and maybe on the verge of tears under the weight of her realization. Instead, she felt a warm hand slide into hers and draw her back to reality, to the fluttering snowflakes falling between her and Jūshirō from the gray sky shrouding the surrounding planes in the shadows of wicker trees topped in snow and the stone manor in the center.

"We should hurry inside before it gets cold," he said, giving her a gentle tug.

The fantasy felt real with his touch.

Jūshirō called after their coach, offering him shelter until the brewing snowstorm passed, but the man kindly rejected his offer and went on his way down the remaining crisscrossing road to the next town.

Jūshirō led Rovina up the ice-glazed steps, catching her by the elbows when she nearly slipped when reaching the door. She was laughing noisily by the time they entered the cold, dark house.

The echo of her voice startled her into another fit of laughter. She couldn't help laughing at the face of embarrassment. How horrible was it for Jūshirō to watch her make such a clumsy entrance? It felt better to laugh and brush it off than face it with a red face. She wasn't sure how to act once the front doors were closed.

"I rarely hire servers, so I hope you don't mind the inconvenience," he said quietly, using the stream of light falling from the tall windows to guide himself around the foyer. "I think there are candles in the kitchen."

Rovina thought of a day without Acacia, her lady-in-waiting. Considering the treatment she received in Thornepike Manor the past three years, it almost seemed like she didn't have a servant willing to wait on her. Even so, Acacia did her best. She figured it wouldn't be too much of a bother as she followed close behind.

"It is fine," she responded quietly, wobbling on her numbed legs. The tingling webbing from her toes to her thighs made it difficult to walk without stumbling. "Though now I feel bad for poor Acacia."

"We can retrieve her, if you want."

She brightened. "Oh, can we?"

"If it will make you happy."

"It will, I promise you it will," she said as ecstatic as a child.

Jūshirō smiled. "Then, I will request her presence here." He averted his gaze. "Of course, we should be considerate of both your positions; this may take a bit long."

"You don't think Elliot would harm her, do you?" she asked worriedly, as they entered a tiny kitchen where she paused at the doorway.

Ukitake searched the creaking cabinets and squeaking drawers until he found a couple of long candles and holsters. He used a carton of matches to light them and returned to Rovina with an inscrutable expression. It stirred her emotions.

"You can help her, yes?" she said pleadingly.

He offered her a kind smile. "I will do everything in my power."

Rovina took the candleholder from him. "Thank you."

* * *

Rovina enjoyed watching Jūshirō pour over his research. He spent hours reading books and writing letters to his contacts, Hummingbird and Black Cat. The first correspondence he received was delivered by a large man that looked to have come from a foreign land, and from that moment onward, he served as a messenger, coming time and time again with new letters from his trusted friends.

He coached the physician from the nearest town on the usage of medicinal herbs and taught him the symptoms of newly named illnesses. As thanks, the old doctor brought them freshly baked treats, courtesy of his wife, and told some of the most inappropriately funny jokes she had ever heard. Sometimes, Jūshirō went to his practice whenever he needed an extra hand and, given the rampant weather, many children were coming down with colds and the numbers were too much for the seventy-year-old man.

Whenever Jūshirō managed upon free time, he spent it with Rovina, easing her worries, keeping her entertained, and slowly opening her heart to him. Elliot only appeared to her in nightmares, in which she recalled the horrible days that she spent as his captive. She woke with a start, covered in sweat, and suppressing a scream. Searching the dark shadows erratically, waiting to see his face lined with fury and darkened by silhouettes. Instead, she found the quiet setting of her new bedroom. The unlit candle at her bedside eased her back into a dreamless slumber.

Elliot no longer mattered; she had no more bruises to remind her of the brutality. So she barely spared him a thought.

Today marked the second week of peace, they were midway through December. The first news of Acacia finally reached her.

Jūshirō approached her seat by the fireplace slowly. She lifted her eyes from the book in her hands, stilling the images of the mystery weaving through her mind, and recognized the expression on his face.

Rovina's eyebrows creased in confusion. "Did something happen?"

He knelt in front of her as he gently pulled the book from her lap and took her hands in his. The action frightened her, he saw it in her eyes, but knew that after he revealed his news, she would need something to clutch. "Forgive me," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. "Everything that could be done was, and even then, it seemed it wasn't enough."

Rovina gripped onto him, her breath hitched, chest knotted in understanding. "Acacia?"

He nodded.

She broke into a sob, unable to contain the grave sense of loss and without warning threw her arms around his neck. She clutched onto him, trembling and felt tears streaming down her face. Acacia, who protected her at all cost, even having to confront Elliot's violent streaks at Thornepike Manor, willing to be thrown out of a room, if only it meant helping her mistress. Acacia, who nursed her tiny cuts and bruises and eased her emotional pain with stories that managed a smile from her lips. It troubled her to acknowledge she no longer lived, but she had no intention asking how. Somehow, she knew the pain would be too severe.

Instead, she held onto him, afraid of what happened if she let go…if he let go.

He didn't. Jūshirō rubbed circles over her back and said nothing; he allowed the sound of her sadness to ring in the room's emptiness. There were too many memories in her head revolving around Acacia, the longer they flitted through her mind, the harder she cried.

She caught herself before another wave of sadness rendered her a sniveling idiot and drew her arms from his neck. She drew a handkerchief from the coat draped over her shoulders and dabbed at her teary eyes.

"S-Sorry," she whimpered, rising from her seat. "Excuse me."

Rovina skirted up to her bedroom, slumped at the foot of her bed using her arms to cradle her heavy head. She stayed in the same position for hours and only took a seat when Jūshirō urged her to have sustenance before returning to bed. He tucked her in the blankets and remained seated at her bedside using the candlelight to continue his research until she had fallen asleep.

Rovina woke the following morning to the sound of Jūshirō's calm breathing. He slept seated, leaning into the headboard with the book on his lap. Seated there, peaceful and slumbering, she could hardly stop herself from noticing how beautiful he looked. She slipped out of bed without making a sound, pulled the coverlet over his chest, and left through the doorway to the adjacent room.

* * *

"I shouldn't ask," Rovina said suddenly, closing the book in her hands. News of Acacia's death devastated her for three complete days, but on the fourth day, she felt at complete ease to ask questions. "I shouldn't."

Jūshirō set his satchel atop the loveseat across her position and caught her hesitating between asking the question or not. He lowered his gaze for a moment and lifted it as he rounded the seat. "I need to speak to you."

Rovina's resolve withered. "About?"

He sat, unbuttoning his jacket as he did. "I wasn't quite as honest with you as I would like."

The thought paralyzed her. He lied about something. Lord Ukitake lying? It scared her.

"O-Okay?" she hesitated.

"I should have told you from the start, but it's a delicate matter," he continued. The only thing he accomplished was scaring her, he saw it in her face. "I don't mean to frighten you."

"I do hope you tell me," she said fearfully, feeling the anxiety bubbling and tears brimming in her eyes. "Nervousness is not good for me."

Jūshirō nodded. "I suppose, I should start with the beginning," he said slowly. "We never formally met until Vinnlake Hall, but I have…" He averted his eyes, hiding a blush. "I first saw you in the marketplace with a seamstress picking out fabrics for the dress you wore to the first gala at Vinnlake Hall. It was simple, a brilliant shade of copper with a sweep of fabrics and your hair was up with cascading curls. You talked to everyone that evening, you talked to Retsu about children, and how you couldn't wait to be a mother."

Rovina's face heated up. He remembered everything down to the last detail.

He smiled warmly. "You were so beautiful, everyone that's met you can't help but love you. You were married, of course, and you loved your husband faithfully. So…" He rubbed the back of his neck, ears reddening.

The conversation slowly disconcerted her. Where was the conversation going? She swallowed hard, expecting the worst.

"I swore the emotions would never change into something out of my control," he continued. "I had knowledge of your husband's rendezvous with Roxanne Harmon and kept them from you."

"Yes, I am aware they were common knowledge," she managed, peeved by the reminder. Images of surprising the two tumbling around in bed manifested in her mind and clouded her emotions. "You simply minded your own business, like the rest of society."

The final words rang too bitterly for her taste.

"Only because I thought it was the better for me to do, I might have told you otherwise," he admitted quickly, "but my actions wouldn't be out of kindness, so I turned a blind eye to your misfortune, even after I was certain I couldn't deny my feelings anymore."

"…And soon, Elliot locked me in Thornepike Manor," she said quietly, knowing the quiet evening they spent at his home was a definitive factor in the development of his feelings. The more he spoke of them, the more insecure she felt. "We lost contact."

"Yes." He paused, sighing. "You were burdened by his abuse and Layla's death at that time." Another pause filled the tense air between them as he slapped both hands over his knees. "A woman contacted me."

Rovina raised an eyebrow. "A woman?"

"It happened two years ago, as you know things were terrible with the Three Families with rumors of Starrk having killed Layla and the Fourth Family's meddling. I learned something that evening." He locked eyes with her. "I learned about what was happening in Thornepike Manor and was reminded of my own helplessness, but most importantly, I realized that the woman who contacted me was said to be dead—"

The thud of the book resounded. Rovina felt her hands cover her mouth. "You're lying."

He shook his head. "Layla contacted me two years ago through her bodyguard, Hirako. I didn't meet her directly until the following year, she had been tracking someone and needed my help with a certain Austyn Bocker."

Rovina abandoned her seat, blinking tears from her eyes and facing a fury unlike she had ever experienced.

"Wait, Rovina—"

Jūshirō chased her to the foot of the staircase, grabbing his satchel as he went.

Rovina whirled around to face him. "How difficult was it to alleviate me of this misery?" she cried, choking back tears. "You could have told me at Willowside Castle. She could have contacted me herself. You could have told me. I wouldn't have wanted anything more than to have my best friend back!"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Let me explain."

"You should have told me," she stated, heading up the staircase.

"Layla contacted me to help you."

Rovina paused on the final step, unsure whether the maelstrom of feelings in her chest rang of bitter disappointment. The enchantment broke and the cruel truth reared its despicable face—Lord Ukitake offered his help because it was asked of him by the friend she thought dead. The awful emotion clashed catastrophically with the resentment—the betrayal—she felt of not knowing Layla was alive, wondering if Starrk knew as well and he simply lied about it in all those letters.

"I trusted you did those things out of your own volition," she squeaked, forcing her voice to sound strong. "I was happy that they were. I wish to be alone, excuse me."

"The only reason she talked to me is because she knew I would do everything in my power—I would protect you from Elliot—she knew I wouldn't turn her down."

_But Acacia is dead_. He sounded so desperate to explain.

"I'm in love with you Rovina," he admitted strongly, "perhaps since the moment I saw you, and she knew it better than anyone."

Frozen. Her feet were made of stone, too heavy to lift onto the final step and run from those words that sounded so sweet leaving his lips, but felt so bitter reaching her heart.

"I would turn my back on my own grandfather for you, perhaps she knew that too," he continued. "She gave me incentive, else we wouldn't be here. You would be with Elliot and I would try to forget you. I wouldn't be telling you any of this, and if you wanted, I would be your friend, but we wouldn't have this chance."

Large tears rolled from her face.

She heard him rustling through his satchel and the tentative steps he took up the staircase. "She's written to you. Every moment she has been able, she's never forgotten about you, not once," he said quietly. "You don't need to forgive me for upholding the truth, but don't resent her for hiding from you."

The bulk of letters appeared in her periphery. She turned to his outstretched hands, to the weathered conditions of the topmost post and the crispness of the earliest mail. There were two bulks, tied by bright ribbons, each addressed to her, simply Rovina in Layla's familiar handwriting.

She took them with a gulp, biting her lower lip. She spared him a single glance and rushed up the final step and out of sight.

Rovina slammed the door behind her and plopped down in the center of her mattress. She stared at the bulk of letters for hours before reaching out to untie the ribbons holding them together. They were dated, the earliest being from June 1882. She inspected the yellowed envelope and opened it carefully. She opened the bulky letter and scattered the tightly packed secrets inside. Scraps of discarded paper sat inside, littered all across her lap, the handwriting was messy, as if rushed.

The letter was short.

_The pieces of my life. Forgive me for being unable to share my gift with you._

The scraps contained single sentences, sometimes only a few words. Many made no sense, but the few that did were powerful. Rovina steadily felt her heart breaking.

_I haven't eaten in weeks._

_I might already be dead._

_I took so much for granted._

_I agreed to something that set myself up for ruin and I regret it. I don't want this life for my child._

But the one that broke her needed no explanation.

_He is called Emmett. I always wanted an Emmett. And he's perfection._

The first official letter was dated _September 1882_.

_I heard of the awful things Elliot has done. Betraying the Luisenbarn, allying with the Fourth Family, and shutting you up in Thornepike Manor. You don't deserve this. Nobody does. Perhaps, you are thinking the same thing now, but don't forget there are still people that love you. And if you can't admit to that. I will help you find them. All of them._

Rovina had no idea Elliot allied himself with the Fourth Family and went back to the various humiliations she experienced on a public platform with people she would never recognize. The initial dread was paralyzing as she sunk into her seat and stomached the fact. Layla would never lie to her, but she did lie. She lied about being dead. She wasn't dead. Could she, perhaps, be lying about Elliot's new alliance?

_No_. The thought was powerful. Layla would never lie about something this serious.

_November 1882_

_The world is going to change drastically, but you are lovely staying as you are. Don't become bitter. Just stay strong._

_I contacted Lord Ukitake to help you in every which way he can. He will. He loves you very much. I'm sure he doesn't yet know it. The way he looks at you…it's absolutely breathtaking. He never stopped in Vinnlake Hall, perhaps once, but I might have been too concerned over Starrk._

_Do you remember the time we spent at Vinnlake Hall, Rovina? _

_I did once. Everything is now a blur. I don't think I'm ready to tell you why yet. I can't think of it anymore. Emmett needs me stronger than ever. I can't let him suffer for the mistakes of others. Not mine. Not his father's. Not our parents'. Not the world that wishes to condemn us. He needs a peaceful life and I will do everything in my power to provide it._

Rovina folded the letter carefully, pulse racing from reading Layla's confirmation of the affection she doubted only minutes ago. She allowed the ancient paper to fall to her lap as she searched for a continuation, only to realize the letters for that year ended in November. The bulk belonging to the following was scarce as well.

She hesitated upon taking the first letter, marked _August 1883_.

_I will leave with you my darkest secrets. Rovina, trust all that I tell you is the truth. Trust me if I ever come to ask you to flee. Trust those that I send to you, but speak nothing of me. I have yet to gather the information and proof that will condemn my enemies._

_Letters are being intercepted, so I cannot divulge the truth to you, not yet. The time will come before you know it all._

The letters from 1884 talked about traveling from country to country until she met with a gypsy tribe. They were being chased out of their city and their leader kept captive by officers that accused him of murder and theft. She helped them, asking but one thing in return, that she and her companions travel with them to England where they hoped to run their traveling circus. She supplied them with generous donations to express her gratitude before she left Emmett at her father's manor in Surrey under the care of Mia. She bid farewell to him and wrote that there was no day, no hour, not a moment in which she wished he slept huddled beside her. She missed speaking to him, teaching him, telling him stories of his father and the life they were meant to live. Then, suddenly, she mentioned they left England, not clarifying where she had gone along with her son.

The words looped in that sweet, familiar writing were gripping, heart wrenching, at times the letters made her laugh so hard the emotion combined with her sorrow. She laughed, sobbing, and noticed the droplets staining the letter, dried up tears that blurred a few words from distinction.

…_Sometimes I'm so miserable I can't stand it._ _I allowed so many to hurt me, to mold me, to change me that I no longer find traces of myself. For the sake of safety and selfishness, I have picked up a gun and taken lives. I have taken so many since the life of my son had been endangered, since I was threatened and controlled by the possibility of death._

Layla wrote frequently at the start of 1885. Every new letter came with the promised information.

_Douglas Gray leads the Fourth Family at the expense of his Queen Victoria. The power The Three Families have taken from the world are meant to end in England, representatives of the affected countries have provided willing warriors to declare war against Aizen, Luisenbarn, and Yamamoto. This army has trained in secret as the most prominent members hired bandits to defame the families, to reawaken the fear that brought them into power. Their sole purpose is to murder us all, kill our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters without mercy once peace spreads amongst our families. Authority will return to its rightful keepers, but revolt is unavoidable within stronger countries. Even if a treaty is signed and all families are torn from their pedestals, the man for whom Douglas Gray takes orders plans to assassinate the queen and seize universal control._

_Flee if you hear the name Nathaniel von Ulrich. He should not be trusted._

.

_Though The Three Families swore to amity amongst themselves, putting an end to internal war, the Luisenbarn and Yamamoto came to a temporary agreement. The world belonged to them far before my father garnered his fair share of power. Believe me when I say that I am not attempting to justify my father's actions, nor am I deeming him innocent of crimes he did commit. Luisenbarn attempted against my father long before the premise of war arose, before the Fourth Family appeared as honorable vigilantes. He ordered his grandson, his oldest, his sole heir and my husband, to enamor me, the favored daughter, and slay me to weaken my father's resolve. Things failed to work in his favor. My father suspected all along and eventually, Starrk simply didn't have the heart to kill me as he was supposed to during the black out at Vinnlake Hall. The stage_ _that had been set for my grave, presented as the heir of Aizen, only supported his beliefs. That was not work of the Fourth Family; it was the Luisenbarn's failed attempt to strip my father of his power._

_I left Vinnlake Hall at the insistence of my father and Starrk's betrayal. I never sincerely trusted you with his involvement with Robin Talbot. She was his mistress and his only mistake while pursuing me. As he proclaimed love for me, he took her to bed. Shameful, so you can understand my early leave from Vinnlake Hall. Do not hold this against him, I try not to still, but I can't say I ever forgave him. He never quite asked for it._

_The start of my journey begins in the conclusion of Vinnlake Hall. When Luisenbarn promised a permanent treaty to my father by marrying Starrk to Sun-Sun, my father agreed while understanding Barragan hoped to control the Aizen through his son's marriage. There were plenty of ways to strip my family of its power, Luisenbarn thought of all of them._

_My father found a way to counter him, but doing so would put me in jeopardy. I cared very little of what happened to me, so long as I was given the peaceful life I desired and he promised it all, so long as I fulfilled my task. I complied without argument._

_There should be regret in my mind, but today, I can't seem to find it._

.

_Douglas Gray ordered my capture. I was taken alongside Shinji Hirako, my bodyguard and confidant, to Wedgeworth's private manor outside London. There the prominent Fourth Family and its gracious elites were to pass judgment over us and some beneficiary that included Camille Remington and the Stanton siblings. It was the stage of my death, but this was not planned._

_The truth, as I uncovered it was as follows. Douglas Gray was not commanded by Nathaniel von Ulrich, nor was Wedgeworth or the five noblemen present that day._

_I will give you five names, by the time you read this, some of them will be dead._

_Theobald Bakalov, the Bulgarian._

_Brigham Watkins, the politician._

_Austyn Bocker, the judge._

_Oswald Byrd, the right hand man._

_Farran Gärtner, the Swedish general._

_The orders were given by Luisenbarn and Yamamoto. The fear of my marriage to Starrk threatened the balance of their power; they opted to cut the weakest link by executing me in public as an act of the Fourth Family._

_Although I killed Wedgeworth and his lackey Bennett, I was captured by Gärtner and taken to be sold at a Luisenbarn auction, overseen by Byrd and hosted by Bocker, both specifically hired by Luisenbarn and Yamamoto respectively._

_I might as well have been wrapped and placed into Douglas Gray's lap without the humiliation of an auction. There was no room for feelings. I was told to discard them, but I couldn't with Emmett growing in my belly._

Rovina found it difficult to stomach what remained of the letter as she swung her legs off the mattress and vacated her bedroom. She took the staircase to the sitting room to find Jūshirō huddled over his reading, troubled and unable to concentrate.

"How corrupt is your grandfather?"

She startled him. He blinked up to face her, wide eyed and expectant.

"Did you know he partnered with Luisenbarn?" she snapped. "Did you know he and that other old fool sold and bought Layla for Douglas?"

Jūshirō set his book aside and stood. "I learned of it once Layla had been taken out of the country. I could do nothing but leave my grandfather and join the Fourth Family—"

"You what?" she cried, unconsciously crumbling the letter in her fist.

He rose his hands in a gesture of peace. "Do not misunderstand, we are thinking of two different families."

Rovina's eyebrows creased, her expression baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"Nathaniel von Ulrich manipulated the queen into creating a Fourth Family upon discovering the original," he said, assuming she learned about him through the letters. "He wanted his creation to take the fame."

"Are they any different from the others?" she demanded, furious. "Or do they plan to take the universal crown."

"The real Fourth Family planned to return power to its rightful keepers, to reestablish governments and bring the sort of peace the world has given up to The Three Families," he explained quickly. "Their methods are not as extreme as what we have grown used to, but they are prepared for war if necessary."

Rovina breathed deeply, disbelieving. "War?"

"There can't be peace anywhere with Aizen, Luisenbarn, and Yamamoto on their pedestals, let alone Nathaniel von Ulrich or Douglas Gray. And they will not bow their heads to restoration; they will wage their own wars to keep control," he continued. "Someone with good intentions had to rise, and they have helped me as well as Layla. Who do you think delivers these letters and brings us news?"

"Why have they remained hidden?" she asked, heart beating quickly. "If they plan to dethrone The Three Families, why have they been silent?"

"Because they needed to wait until they were strong enough to accomplish their goals. They weren't going to rush in blindly, that would get them killed."

She swallowed hard. "Then, what awaits us now?"

"There isn't time for us to worry about their actions; my job is to keep you safe."

"And Layla's?"

He dropped his eyes. "I—"

"What is it?" she demanded. "What does she have to do?"

"Layla's is to destroy the Three Families."

The crushed letter fell from her hands and onto the floor. Her hand found her mouth; she felt the burden without having to carry it and it tore open an abysmal hole in her chest. How could Layla possibly bring ruin to The Three Families with only one guard at her side and a child in her arms?

But then she remembered the letter.

'_I will give you five names, by the time you read this, some of will be dead._'

And so they were.

* * *

**Beta'd by**: LULuckyTiger

* * *

**xl**: I sit in my darkened bed corner staring at a screen as I type nonsense. Complete, total nonsense because at this point, I forgot what I wanted to say. I'm pretty sure there were a few things I wanted to address, but this happens all the time, I just open up the document to type in a afterthought and my mind blanks.

Let's forget about that. I do want to say one thing. To me, for whatever reason, Ukitake seems like the sort of man that would experience that whole love at first sight, maybe because he can read people, so I kind of went with that as a justifiable excuse. I was terribly iffy about the notion of "love at first sight," always have been since I don't believe it. I think it's too corny, so I just never go there. And if you read any of my other story, you can tell I enjoy taking my sweet as time with romances (I really do, I know...maybe it annoys some people, but it's all for a good cause).

Sincerely, I am iffy on my approach to the whole Ukitake/Rovina story. I probably won't do it again. The thing that makes me the slightest bit happy about it (besides how bubbly it makes me feel) is that there are still so many things for them to discover about each other and conquer before they realize that they really are meant to be. If you have doubts, let me take you on an adventure. We can pretend that didn't sound the least bit creepy.

Thank you for reading, and shout outs to **Brunette Geek** and **OnCeUpOnA-TiMeLoNg-AgO **for reviewing!


	54. Entrust the Heart 2

**On the last chapter**(**s**): After a hard-hitting confrontation with her husband, Rovina finally accepts the help Ukitake offered her and together they leave Willowside Castle to stay in a squared stone home on a farm in the outskirts of a small town. While there Ukitake confesses his knowledge of Layla being alive and Rovina gets upset over it. He leaves her with a stack of letters Layla wrote to her (but gave to him) that are about her horrible experiences. The last chapter ends with Ukitake further admitting that it is his duty to keep Rovina safe and that Layla wants to destroy the three families.

* * *

[II. **Camellia**]

Thirteen: _**Entrust the Heart II**_

_I knew not the day that I would be petty._

* * *

Rovina Stephenson discovered comfort on her plus mattress and feathered pillows. She found peace in the sweet smells that lingered in the air of perfumes and flowers and food. She inhaled the mingling scents as she stared listlessly at the flickering flame of a paraffin lamp. She fantasized about a world without the Three Families or their power struggle, without betrayals and masks, and in the place of all its ugliness was a beautiful plane full of tranquility. There she imagined she lived in a happy marriage with children running through hedge gardens and over clipped grass, near fountains of water with cherub statues and colorful flowers. She pictured this dream world perfectly encased in a glass glove like the one surrounding the dancing flame within the lamp and every passing moment she wanted it more.

She ate too little to provide sufficient energy to go from her bedroom to the sitting room downstairs and knew it had worried Lord Ukitake half to death when he found her faint by the staircase yesterday evening. He had carried her into bed and had pushed hair from her face as he insisted she eat, promising to prepare whatever lavish dinner she desired, but she had refused him.

Deep down inside she still felt the betrayal fester at the bottom of her stomach. He should have told her about Layla sooner, as he seemed to have known the truth far before that. He had apologized more than enough, he would have continued doing so if she had asked it of him, but she had merely stared at him in silence. There had been nothing left to say.

She felt horrible about it. After everything he had done for her, Jūshirō did not deserve her anger and yet it had been all she could give to him. She wasn't sure why it made her so angry to start. Perhaps, she did understand the reason for her mood. Maybe it had everything to do with his admittance to love than keeping a secret from her because the words he spoke at the bottom of the staircase left her with a sour taste in her mouth. He should not have told her such lovely words.

_"I am in love with you Rovina, perhaps since the moment I saw you…"_

And those sweet words echoed in her mind, strong and full of meaning as he had spoken them to her at the steps. She recalled his dark eyebrows drawn together in his determination and his hands holding Layla's correspondences wrapped in colorful ribbons.

_"I would turn my back on my own grandfather for you…"_

He had. He had turned his back on his grandfather for her. He allied with Layla.

_Oh_. Words were so hard to trust.

_And there is Elliot._

She was still Rovina Stephenson, Duchess of Cambridge, and Elliot remained her husband by law. Nothing could be done to annul the union, she had already begged. Elliot meant for her to suffer, for however long it was necessary to satisfy him.

A knock derailed her thoughts.

Rovina turned away from the paraffin lamp. "Come in."

Jūshirō pushed open the door, poking his head inside with a tight smile. "I brought something for you," he said quietly. "Do you wish to see it?"

"Of course," she said, sitting up against the pillows.

He disappeared only to return with an easel and a large blank canvas. He set everything up in the gaping space between her four-poster bed and the sitting area by large paneled windows. He approached her bedside and dropped a bag in front of her bulging with new brushes and glass bottles displaying an assortment of colors.

Rovina peered into the satchel in awe then slowly lifted blue eyes to his.

"These are—" The negative emotions she had been feeling vanished. "—You didn't need to."

Jūshirō smiled. "All yours," he said kindly. "I wasn't quite sure what you liked and bought as much as I could carry."

Rovina fought the urge to throw her arms around him and simply found her smile. "This is too kind of you…I—I don't deserve your kindness after my behavior with you. I—I don't deserve this…nor anything."

He took a seat on the edge of the bed, his weight shifting her body in his direction, and the smile drawn on his lips fading into one of saddened understanding. "That is all fine," he said, his kind brown eyes holding her gaze. "Your behavior has been understandable and I feel I only made it worse by thrusting my feelings at you."

He stared at her folded hands as if he planned to reach to take them into his and for a second, she wanted to feel them, their warmth, the slight roughness of his palms. She chased the thought from her head. It was inappropriate.

"You don't have to respond to my feelings, I only want us to remain friends," he continued. "I will protect you from Elliot and anyone else threatening to hurt you."

It stung. The idea that he did not need her to respond to his feelings made her heart squeeze tightly in ache. She wished to ignore it and pretend it beat moderately as if accepting of it all.

She swallowed the distinct impulse to question his words and allowed the smile to stay on her lips as she picked up a paintbrush. She stared at the space between them. They were so close with only the satchel dividing them.

"Thank you."

She only said it because it felt right and there wasn't anything else she could say. She couldn't even manage an "I'm sorry."

Jūshirō stood from his seat awkwardly, excusing himself and left her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Rovina ran the tips of her fingers alongside the row of paintbrushes. She lifted her eyes to the blank canvas and the swab of paint sitting in her palette. No matter how many minutes passed, she found it difficult to start. Considering the colors, bright or dark, proved difficult without a set image in her mind. All she knew was that the painting needed to be done. How it came to be…_ahhh_…she wondered.

Footsteps paused behind her.

"Have you decided what to paint?" asked Jūshirō, curious.

"I might be thinking too much," she admitted softly. "All I see is white. There is no color. I doubt I could explain this."

Jūshirō stepped closer, appearing in her periphery, his eyes fixed on the canvas. "There is always color in this world," he said quietly. "I think it's a matter of whether you want to see it or not."

Rovina's heart reacted with a sudden jolt. She caught his hand reaching for a paintbrush, stopping as his fingers traced the bristles. His eyes caught hers. "May I?"

She nodded, intrigued.

Jūshirō picked up the longest paintbrush and dabbed it over bright blue paint. He drew a line across the canvas.

There was color. He took her hand and placed the same brush in her palm with a kind smile. "It's no longer white."

Rovina stared at the strange blue line, her imagination overflowing with images of the sky—in the summer, fall, winter and spring—and of the right trees to compliment every shift.

"Now there's a splash of color."

She felt his hands touch her shoulders lightly, hesitant at first. "Whatever you draw, it'll be beautiful."

She blinked up at him, to the overwhelming proximity and a throbbing appendage banging in her ribcage. She tore her gaze immediately, returning it to the canvas. He moved away from her just as quickly.

"I'll be going to the clinic today. Do you need anything from the town?" he asked as he headed toward the door.

"No, I'll be fine," she replied. "Take care of yourself."

She listened well to his retreating steps as the heat in her face faded away.

Something sparked between them in that instant. Miniscule and easily ignored, but it happened. For an unguarded second, it came to life alongside the rest of the emotions fluttering in her stomach. She held onto the paintbrush tightly. Did she hope for something to happen? Could she have handled the situation if it arose?

Rovina brushed the thoughts aside. If she intended to finish the painting, she needed to start.

And start she did. Rovina fell into deep concentration, feeling the hours trickle like warm sand passing through her fingers, and painted a world of colors to compliment that blue line Jūshirō left behind. It became the skyline to a city of cluttered homes made of uneven brown and gray stones, each positioned on a taller hill with a sun that shone brightly against their sparkling walls.

Her vision was a mere outline of children frolicking and people in the middle of a shopping market. Everyone within the canvas stood frozen without faces or color, but despite it all, Rovina hadn't felt so pleased with herself before.

She exhaled, cleaning her hands off on a thick cloth and stepped away from her work, seating herself at the foot of her bed. She pulled Layla's bundled letters from the edge and set them on her lap.

There were many reasons she read them repeatedly, but the one she truly acknowledge was coming to terms that her friend was indeed alive. Every letter was written in her familiar script and signed with her name. She spoke of pain and happiness, a mixture of both, but never truly elaborated on the horrors she endured in her time as a captive.

Rovina embarked on dangerous journeys with Layla in the last correspondences because she wrote about everything—the heat of the sunlight during cold mornings, the crunch of newly fallen snow and the smell of the countryside. Layla wrote repeatedly that she wanted to live in the countryside with a horde of animals in barns and the smell of sugar cane drifting from a plantation as far as her eyes could reach.

'_I would gladly give up my rights to the Aizen fortune for a life so simple with Emmett._"

She never mentioned Starrk, not in these letters. She spoke of him before, not often but enough.

The one letter that said his name was the last.

'_On the nights that I miss Starrk, I feel that our paths will never cross._'

She had relinquished her hope and the sadness it stirred in Rovina brought tears to her eyes. She felt her hands crumple the letter against her chest and her voice come out a choked sob. She could not undo the pain Layla must have experienced then; she only hoped that someone had been there to support her.

Rovina set aside the letters and fell into the mattress, her bones heavy and aching. She hugged a plush pillow to her chest and remembered Jūshirō drawing a blue line across the canvas. He called it a splash of color and it proved to be an eye opening experience for her. She lived in a pale world by comparison to the artistry his thoughtless action birthed and she missed the immersion, the joy, the fullness, the tickling of butterfly wings in her stomach. Everything for a few short hours felt perfect.

Marrying Elliot Stephenson had once felt the same.

She had encountered him on three formal celebrations hosted by mutual friends of his and her father. She had been young and annoyingly impatient in her ideal to marry someone for love even though she had known she would marry Elliot.

Rovina had wanted fantasy. Of course, the way she had seen it, she already lived in fantasy—the world had been full of color and life and joy—and although it had been perfect, it had been lacking one thing…a husband. Rovina had wanted a husband, she had been desperate for one, she had been ready to become an adult and had been prepared (or so she had believed) for whatever that ensued. However, she had envisioned grand social gatherings that would set the stage to her becoming the best host of her generation. She had wanted people to die of shame if they had not received an invitation to her soirees, so when it came to handsome and titled Elliot Stephenson and their arranged marriage, Rovina had thought she struck gold.

When she had formally acquainted herself with Elliot, he had been beyond expectation. Naturally, as Duke of Cambridge, he had a lot of favor—people loved him and if someone as well loved as him planned to woo her, she had been more than a little ecstatic to oblige him. He had the sort of influence that could provide her family with security and surround her with people that would surely love her one day the same—if she won their favor, which she was willing to fight for tooth and nail. However, she had not accepted his advances for riches or status, despite how badly she had wanted them, no that had not been it.

Elliot had promised to love her, truly love her, and that had been enough for her to marry him within a fortnight.

Their union had started off well and she dreamt it would have progressively turned into more, but it had not. She had belatedly realized that there would be women against her for being his wife-young girls, highborn girls and common girls, single and married women. She had been cursed by them all because they claimed to love him and because of those women, she had developed a horrible reputation as a result.

Her fantasy had fallen apart. It had been a slow burn. By the first year, Rovina had decided to remove her blindfold and see perfection for what it truly was. Elliot had married her to call upon the support of her father's support and that of his loyal subjects as well as showcase his generosity by marrying the prettiest girl without care for her own inheritance or the scandal brewing within the Blair family. He had saved her family from ruin to boost his own image, to gloat about it to his highborn friends and show her off as if she were a dog he had picked up from the street.

It hadn't matted how pretty she looked, how she had tried to style herself, how affable she had been—she had faced derision for having become the poor girl that had suddenly married into riches. The story had twisted upon itself and she had been devastated.

Oh…but she had been willing to continue to ignore it all. She had readily pulled on her blindfold—had knotted it twice—and had decided to live in the ignorant bliss of her love for Elliot.

Rovina blinked blearily. She wished to have encountered Jūshirō as a young, naïve girl and that he had met her and had charmed her and had promised marriage, love, security, and children and she would have accepted.

As her stomach clenched into knots, Rovina pleaded with God—anyone listening—to allow her a brief moment to turn back to life before Elliot, so that her life unfurled differently. She would willingly sell her soul to be married to a man, so good-natured, handsome, and wonderful like Lord Ukitake, and in that marriage, everyday would be like that painting. Every moment would be full of butterflies in her stomach, of easy conversation, of hours in the warmth of each others arms, of merriment and hope and dreams. There would be love. She honestly did not know when the thought had occurred to her that it might be a possibility, but it had been the only idea running through her mind at the sight of him. She could live forever with him, but she swore not to have such ideas because of her marriage.

Sometime during the thought process, Rovina had fallen asleep and it had been his voice that woke her.

She startled at the touch of his hand upon her shoulder and jerked away.

"I'm sorry to have startled you," he uttered quietly. "I was only trying to move you so you wouldn't wake with any pain."

"Oh." Rovina sat up awkwardly, her hand sinking into the plushness of a pillow. "That's fine."

He stared into her face in a disconcerting way and followed up by taking a seat beside her on the bed. "You look a bit pale," he offered worriedly. "Would you like something to drink? Tea perhaps?"

"Water is fine." She had a thirst. "Thank you."

Jūshirō returned to her side with water. She took the offering with gratitude and nearly gulped it all down, but it failed to quench her thirst. She did not ask for more. She allowed him to sit so that he may have a better look at her to determine she was fine. She did not feel sick, only thirsty.

"Do you feel ill?" he asked, minding his hands.

She sensed he would have reached out to touch her face to make sure her temperature was normal.

"I will live," she said assuredly. Her lips parted, the words nearly left her, but she thought against speaking them.

"You look troubled."

"I think I was dreaming," she admitted hesitantly.

He smiled and handed her a nearby pillow. "It wouldn't hurt to eat before returning to sleep."

"I am only thirsty."

He quickly left his seat to refill her cup and returned it to her hands. Their fingertips brushed and she pulled back quickly, embarrassed.

"Sorry," he said, surprising her.

She shook her head. "You did nothing wrong." She took another great gulp of water, the refreshing rush of it tampered down her nervous reaction. She avoided meeting his gaze.

Sensing her unwillingness to carry out any conversation, Jūshirō left her room. She watched him go with longing and regret that she could not say a thing about her wishes.

* * *

**Beta'd by**: LULuckyTiger

**xl**: Hello everyone! I'm back! I hope to keep churning out some Camellia chapters to end part 2 of the Masquerade series, so you probably won't be waiting too long...well...unless school gets in the way.

The summary at the start of the chapter was limited to only Rovina-centric events. I will do a more detailed summary on anything Layla related once we return to her chapters...which won't be too far. We only have 2 more Rovina chapters left before going back to Layla and Starrk' dilemma and whether or not they'll make it in time to save their son from Douglas Gray's men.

A preview to the next chapter will be available as soon as I can get it done. Also, if you have any questions or are confused about anything or even just curious, feel free to ask them.

Thank you for reading! :)

P.S. - I have a poll running on my profile. Please check it out and contribute if you want!


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